


Come Hold My Hand, Let's Change the World

by Rads



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF!Bilbo, BAMF!Thorin, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pining, Romance, magical powers, non-canon plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3666924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rads/pseuds/Rads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William "Beau" Baggins, a.k.a. Bilbo Baggins, the dandy of the Shire, is a rich, aristocratic Hobbit, and well-respected, despite being widely-travelled and wearing silk waistcoats. He has ignored all the caps set at him all these years, and chosen to bring up his orphaned niece Rose on his own. But Bilbo's comfortable existence is soon to be overturned, and he will be thrown into situations of increasing peril. Cocky Dwarrows and kidnappers are all very well, but what will Bilbo do when evil forces gather and converge on the Shire?</p>
<p>Is 75% fluffy and romantic, but also references serious issues such as xenophobia, racism, and a people's struggle for dignity and survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beau Baggins and the Rose-coloured headache

**Author's Note:**

> Totally AU. Only connects with canon in odd places here and there. Set broadly in Tolkienverse, but is a hodgepodge mix of book-verse, movie-verse, game-verse, fanon-verse, sprinkled with a little Regency spice and doused in some earthy magic. Not for Tolkienverse purists. Warning: Fluff and magical superpowers ahead.
> 
> Told in third-person, but watch out for POV changes. Not a native speaker, and not betaed or Brit-picked, so could have rough edges. All 18 chapters have been completed, but I'll be cleaning them and uploading them one by one.
> 
> Please note: I deleted the prologue - I felt it was slowing down the narrative without adding much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo Baggins returns from his travels to the realms of Elves and Men, laden down with brocades, silks, and lovely things galore, only to get a rude shock. His niece Rose, who hasn't yet come of age, has apparently fallen in love with a Dwarf!

**Chapter 1. Budgeford, The Shire**

William “Beau” Baggins was a gentlehobbit, through and through. Even when he got agitated, he never raised his voice, never threw his arms around, never stamped his feet or did anything un-gentlehobbit-like. Or anything that would muss his perfectly coiffed hair or smudge the delicate lace edging his sleeves. Not for nothing had he been called “The Beau” ever since he had emerged at his coming-of-age party in a delicate white muslin shirt, a silk brocade waistcoat, and the most sumptuous embroidered coat the Shire had ever seen. 

Thus when he turned up at the Bolgers’ house at dawn, while he looked outwardly calm, Herugar Bolger immediately knew from his expression that something was wrong. Very wrong. 

“Bilbo, you’re back! But what’s happened?”

William, a.k.a. Bill, a.k.a. Beau Baggins, was Bilbo to his close friends and relatives. Some older relatives still called him William, and the rest of the Shire knew him as Master Baggins or Beau Baggins, the rich head of the Baggins family, related to all the gentlehobbits in the Shire, and the semi-official advisor on the outside world to the Thain, the Mayor, and the Master of Brandybuck Hall. Several Hobbit lasses had set their caps at him over the years, but to no avail. Rumor had it that Bilbo had sworn not to marry till his young ward Rose was safely wed. Rumor also had it that the Shire’s lads had a better chance than the lasses, but only his close friends knew for sure. And they weren’t telling. 

The dapper Hobbit stepped into his cousin’s smial without being invited in, took off his travel-stained boots, dropped his heavy bags on the floor, hung a forest-green traveling cloak on the peg and marched over to the living room. Herugar was one of Bilbo’s closest cousins. There were no formalities between them.

“Tea. I need tea if I am to discuss this with you, Herugar.” 

Herugar looked panicky for a moment. Bilbo’s voice was softer than ever, which meant he wasn’t just angry, he was furious, and all directed at him! 

“I’ll make some chamomile tea,” he squeaked and ran into the kitchen. The kettle was pretty much always kept hot, so in a couple of minutes, he came back with a fragrant cup of tea. 

Bilbo, in the meantime had shed his coat and waistcoat, and was lounging near the fire in a fine cream-coloured linen shirt, bottle-green breeches and suspenders, his feet up on a little footstool, very much at home. 

Herugar placed the tea carefully in Bilbo’s hands, then took a few steps back and sat down on a settee ten feet away from the apparently fuming Hobbit. 

Bilbo took a careful sip, then sat quietly and finished the tea. By the time he finished, he was calmer but evidently still very angry. 

Herugar asked timidly, “When did you get back?”

“Not long ago. I heard something in Bree that made me hurry back a day earlier. Something so shocking I couldn’t believe it!”

Herugar didn’t reply, just looked at him questioningly.

“Archer Took said Rose -- my Rose! -- was being courted by a Dwarf! And even more shocking – you and Jessamine were encouraging it!” 

“Oh.” 

“Is that all you can say?”

“He’s a very nice fellow, you know.” 

“Since when do we open our doors to Dwarves? You’ve drunk too much of the Brandywine – you’ve become a Brandybuck!”

“Oh pish-tush,” said Herugar, showing a flash of spirit. “Is this Auntie Belladonna’s son speaking?”

“Don’t bring my mother into it.”

“Oh yes, I will. You can’t tell me that Bill Baggins, who has just returned from who knows where, bags filled with exotic fabrics, can be so narrow minded!”

Bilbo took a deep breath. “He’s a Dwarf! Dwarves live for centuries! And Dwarves are, well, Dwarves! And Rose is far too young to be courting anyway! Have you forgotten that she is only 28? She won’t come of age for 5 years!” 

“Lobelia Bracegirdle is even younger, and she’s already married to your cousin!”

“Do not speak to me of the Bracegirdles! Or the Sackville-Bagginses!”

“But Bilbo… you really should meet him! He’s really quite young for a Dwarf, not even 80 years old I believe.” 

Bilbo made a very rude noise. Herugar ignored it. 

“So tall and handsome, and they say he’s related to the royal family, and he has so many interesting tales to tell of battles he has been in! A very brave warrior! You should at least meet him!” 

“Oh yes, I’ll meet him, all right. He’ll learn that not all of Rose’s guardians are stone blind morons!” 

“Bilbo!”

“Mealy-mouthed, are we? A little more of this prudery would have come in handy before you let my niece spend time with some 80-year-old! Her tête-à-têtes end today. I’ve come to take her back home to Bag End. Where is she?”

“She and Jessamine went out for a walk with the baby. Jessamine said she has things to do at the Hall, but Rose should be back soon.” 

“And you had better get me another cup of chamomile tea.” 

Herugar added, “And some breakfast!” and ran into the kitchen. 

Two breakfasts later, Bilbo fell into a light snooze, tired out from the journey. 

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“Uncle Bill! Uncle Bill! Wake up!” 

Bilbo shook his head and looked up blearily to see his pretty niece, a huge smile on her face, looking down at him. 

“Rose!” 

Rose threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I missed you!” 

“Now, now, Rose. What have I told you about acting like a lady?” 

“I don’t want to act like a lady!” Rose stamped her feet. “I missed you!” And she hugged her uncle again, burying her face in his shoulder.

“I missed you too, poppet!” Bilbo hugged his niece. “Let me look at you.” 

Rose laughed and stepped back for her favourite uncle’s inspection. She was looking particularly pretty, with poppies in her curly mahogany hair, wearing a simple dark blue pinafore with embroidery around the hem, and a full sleeved blouse underneath made of a lighter material. 

“Yes, yes, not bad. I see you haven’t forgotten my lessons on mixing and matching colors.” 

“Of course I haven’t! But if we’re talking about clothes – did you get new ones for me, my absolute favourite uncle?” 

“Your only uncle, so you can stop cajoling. And you’ll get them once we get home. I’m not planning to open them up here and repack my bags.” Bilbo said grumpily.

“Oh good! When are we leaving? I miss my little room!” 

“Ungrateful chit. Are you saying you weren’t happy here with Herugar and Jessamine?” 

“Oh no, – I love it here! They’re absolutely wonderful! And Odo is such a darling baby! But home is home. I miss my room!” 

“Well, all right, then. Go and pack, and let’s be off. I warned Miller on my way – he’s keeping your pony ready. I’ll have to borrow one of Herugar’s horses – Rainbow’s tired out, poor thing.” 

Rose gaped. “Did you ride overnight?” 

“Heavens, no. I started yesterday morning with a group of Rangers. We set a spanking pace, I tell you. I can’t tell you how sweaty I got.” Bilbo said, disgusted. 

Rose grinned, but her mind was obviously elsewhere.

“Oh Uncle Bill… there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Let’s get home and you can tell me after you’ve seen your new clothes. We do need to set out soon. Get packing. All right?”

“Yes, Uncle!” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze and ran out. 

“Hmph.” Bilbo pushed the footstool away, got up and stretched. 

Herugar Bolger walked in and said, “I thought I heard Rose come in?” 

“She’s gone to pack. We are leaving.” 

“Won’t you wait for Jessamine? Odo’s grown quite a bit from the last time you saw him” 

Bilbo shook his head with very real regret. Odo was a delightful baby. “I’d better not. We still have quite a distance to go, and we need to reach Frogmorton before dark. I can’t take a risk, not when travelling with Rose.” 

Herugar nodded. “The Floating Log?”

Bilbo sighed. “Yes. I do hope they air out the sheets properly this time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Herugar was the only child of Rudigar Bolger and Belba Baggins. He married Jessamine Boffin and they had one child together, Odovacar." - Tolkien Gateway. Belba Baggins was sister to Bungo Baggins, Bilbo's father.


	2. Beau Baggins and the Study of Dwarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bilbo nodded, “I beg your pardon, Master Balin. It was not my intent to pry. But I am curious – you have been mining in the Blue Mountains for years. You must have obtained gold and precious metals and minerals enough for several generations? How much gold do you need?”**   
>  **“Master Baggins, let us be open with each other. Are you saying we are greedy?”**   
>  **Bilbo said calmly. “No, Master Balin. I’m not saying you’re greedy. I am asking if you are.”**   
>  **“I suppose it was too much to expect the people of the Shire to understand,” Balin said sadly. “There is no point in continuing this discussion, then.” He got up, shoulders slumped in defeat.**
> 
> Bilbo, your xenophobia is showing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read/bookmarked/left kudos! Love you all!

**Bag End**

Bilbo leaned back in his comfortable chair. He felt supremely content. He was wearing his favourite slippers again, and Rose was sitting on the floor, going over the carefully arranged piles of fabrics at her feet, selecting combinations to merge into dresses that would astonish the Shire. There were silks and brocades for formal wear, cottons, taffeta and gauze for casual wear, lawn and calico for blouses, satin and cambric for innerwear, wool and camelhair for coats. There were also soft leathers for new shoes. Another unopened bag held shawls, purses and inexpensive jewellery. A third bag held exotic knick-knacks and other presents for their neighbours, family and friends that would be placed under the party tree on Yuleday. 

But this comfortable quiet couldn’t last long. Bilbo would have to confront Rose about the Dwarf she was meeting. Bilbo would need all his tact for that conversation. Luckily he had plenty of practice. So he was quite prepared for it when Rose suddenly turned to him and said, “Uncle Bill, I need to talk to you.” 

“Yes, my darling? What is it?”

Rose moved closer till she was sitting at Bilbo’s feet. “I have met someone.” 

“Someone? You mean someone special?” 

“Yes, Uncle. And I would very much like to marry him. So please say I may, like a good Uncle.”

Bilbo smiled and ruffled her hair. “Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we? I’ll need to meet him first. Where does he live?” 

“In Bree. And his name is Durin. And he’s the bravest warrior ever! He told me all about the time he attacked Moria and killed so many orcs and wargs he couldn’t count them!” 

“Moria? I’ve never heard of such a place, let alone a war.”

“Oh Uncle Bill! You don’t know anything! When the King of dwarves led an army to take back Moria, Durin was at his side, and he killed countless orcs. And wargs.” 

“I’ve never heard of wargs in my life. What in Yavanna’s name are wargs?”

“Wargs are…” Rose stopped. “Well, I’m not entirely sure. I think they’re huge animals. You should ask Durin when you meet him.”

“Is that his name? Just Durin?” 

“Oh dwarves don’t have two names.” 

Bilbo shrugged. He knew nothing about dwarves. He had never met a Dwarf in his life. He had seen a few, going by in his travels, covered with hair and armour and weapons, stomping along on their huge boots. Ugly, unkempt creatures. Neither Men nor Elves had much good to say about dwarves. Grasping, greedy, uncouth, loud, secretive and unsociable toward other races, were some of the milder epithets used. None of which made him at all keen to meet them. He had never heard of any wars the dwarves had fought in. Bilbo felt puzzled and a little resentful. How could his delicate little Rose be in love with a Dwarf? 

Bilbo took another look at Rose. Well, perhaps not so delicate. Rose took after her Took ancestor the Bullroarer rather than the Baggins side of the family – she was the tallest female in the Shire, and very few young Hobbit lads topped her height. Was that the reason? Did Rose seek someone taller than her? 

But there would be time enough to find out about the lad. The central tenet of diplomacy was patience, and Bilbo was accustomed to waiting. He was deeply suspicious, but he would give the Dwarf a chance. But when the time came, if he found that the Dwarf was not all he should be, well, then he would have to decide what to do. 

“Well, if he deserves you, I will talk to your other guardians as well, and we will decide if he may court you. But Rose, he should have asked your guardians for permission before courting you.” 

Rose looked crestfallen. “I don’t think he knows that. And I didn’t tell him.” 

“Well, no harm done. But we can’t keep breaking the rules of propriety, you know. We are Bagginses of Bag End, and we have a reputation to maintain.”

Rose looked down, abashed. She knew what she had done wasn’t right, and she couldn’t bear it if the likes of Aunt Camellia hauled her beloved Uncle Bill over the coals for her shortcomings. Uncle Bill had always prided himself on doing the right thing, and his favourite niece would not be the cause of his embarrassment, at least. 

“I promise I won’t break any more rules, Uncle. I won’t meet him anywhere alone till you give me leave. But can I send him a letter asking him to visit us?” 

“No. You can write to him after you get permission to start courting, not before. Give me his address, and I will send him a letter. Time enough to think about what to do next after I meet him.” 

“All right” Rose said trustingly and laid her head upon her Uncle’s knee. 

Bilbo felt a little like a cruel uncle from a fairy tale, but ruffled her hair affectionately, then said, “After the Solstice, we go to Michel Delving – to the tailor’s shop!” and Rose’s smile widened. 

 

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**Two days later. Bywater**

 

“Beau! Beau Baggins!” 

Bilbo stopped his pony and turned around. A rather large Hobbit, also on a pony, was coming up behind him. He was decades older than Bilbo, with a wide grin, snow white hair and a pleasant face. “Gorbadoc! Good to see you again, sir! What are you doing in these parts?” 

“Meetings, my dear boy, meetings. It’s some confounded dwarves this time.” Gorbadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, wheezed a little as he pulled up alongside Bilbo. “Beau, m’boy. Where are you off to?” 

“Just going over to Bywater to meet some friends. And then we’ll ride on to Tuckborough.” 

“Good, good. I need your support, m’boy. Looked for you at Bag End but your little girl told me you were on the road.” Gorbadoc, although the Master of Buckland, was very plainly and comfortably dressed in dark brown breeches, a plain green shirt, and a thick woollen coat. 

“Well, of course. Any help I can give. I don’t know anything about dwarves, though. Men and Elves, certainly, but I haven’t had much truck with dwarves.” 

“You know how I hate talking to outsiders of any kind. The Rangers will be there too. They scare me to death, those tall people. It’s just all too much for me, m’boy. I just want to sit back and smoke my pipe, but people won’t leave me alone. It would help so much to have you there. You help me think.” 

“I don’t like them much, but whatever you say, Gorbadoc.” Bilbo wasn’t particularly keen on attending a meeting when he could be having fun with his friends, but he never could say no to Gorbadoc.

“I don’t like it either, Bilbo. Too many dwarves going through the Shire as it is. I don’t want to see them across the table at meetings, too.” 

“But what in the world do they want?”

“Mining, their letter said. When I was a young Hobbit I never heard of dwarves mining outside the Blue Mountains. Their letter said they were planning to prospect other mountains around Eriador as well.” 

The horses were walking side by side down the path now. By common consent, they set the horses to a trot for a while, then slowed into a walk again. 

“Getting greedy, are they?” Bilbo asked. 

Gorbadoc said, “I don’t know. Are they rich? They don’t look very rich to me.” 

Bilbo shook his head. “Let’s meet them and see.” 

“Here, here’s the letter. I depend on you to help me say no to them.” 

Bilbo reined in his horse to a slow walk and read the letter. It said the dwarven King-in-exile had heard of possible metals in Celeb Brill, about 20 miles beyond Brandywine Bridge. It was pretty much no-one’s-land, but the King wanted to smooth the path for his miners. Plus they would need support in terms of provisions and transport during the prospecting and after. 

Hence they were meeting with the Master of Buckland, and representatives of the Shirrifs and the Rangers, at the Bywater Inn. 

Bilbo shook his head. He couldn’t see Gorbadoc agreeing to any such thing. Or the Rangers either.

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When they reached the Inn, Bilbo handed over his horse to the ostler and walked over to the pub next door, where his friends Gruffo and Jago Boffin were waiting. He excused himself to them and promised to return after the meeting. They weren’t at all surprised – everyone knew the Master of Buckland depended completely on Bilbo for major decisions. 

The meeting was held in the Inn’s private dining hall. When Bilbo walked in, he saw a large oval table had been arranged in the centre, and several chairs around. Gorbadoc waved him over. 

He walked over to stand next to the Master and looked around. There was only one Man at the table, dressed in the dark, worn leathers of the Rangers, seated on a stool designed for Hobbits and looking a bit uncomfortable. There were two senior Shirrifs, both well known to Bilbo. The rest of the table was filled with dwarves – six of them. They were all dressed, sadly, in leather armour, but were not armed, and Bilbo saw weapons carefully laid out in a corner of the room, including the Ranger’s sword and bow, and the Shirrifs’ shortstaffs. 

Bilbo bowed and said, “Beau Baggins, Head of the Baggins clan of Hobbiton, at your service. I am here at the Master of Buckland’s invitation.” 

The Shirrifs got up politely. They obviously didn’t need to introduce themselves, so they merely bowed. The older of them, Shirrif Underhill said, “Master Baggins, it’s good to see you again.” 

Ranger Windstorm was known to him as well, and he merely smiled and inclined his head. At friendly meetings with Dwarrows and Hobbits, Men stayed seated as much as possible so as not to intimidate. 

Then it was the turn of the dwarves. Bilbo tried not to let his distrust show on his face as he bowed to them. 

The white haired Dwarf in the centre got up and bowed, “Balin, advisor to the King, at your service.” At least he looked pleasant enough, and the white beard would have been elegant if the Dwarf dressed better. The others introduced themselves in turn. Dwalin, Chief of the Guard, was bald, tattooed and fierce, a typical Dwarf, every inch a warrior, and intimidating. The next Dwarf was a surprise: Heir-in-Exile Fili, young and smiling with golden hair and a handsome face. Almost Elven in his beauty, and with a livelier dress sense than the rest. Miner Borin wore a forest of chestnut coloured braids and a scowl. Scribe Farin could almost pass for a Hobbit with his babyish face, but he bore a straggly beard. Prospector Frar was the shortest and slightest, with long slender hands, a pointed face, neatly braided hair and beard. 

Bilbo tried to smile pleasantly at them all and sat down. So the King wasn’t present. He took an interested look at Fili – young, very handsome, clearly a warrior, with a well-defined jaw and burly arms, and of the royal family. The King’s son. Pity his name wasn’t Durin. 

Balin resumed speaking, “Master Gorbadoc, Master Baggins, as you know, we are miners, and have been mining in the Blue Mountains for a very long time. The veins in the Blue Mountains are now running thin, and getting harder and harder to mine. Hence we are looking for new sources of metals around Eriador. Celeb Brill was part of Gondor once, but their kings have long forgotten this part of the world. It is also not part of the Shire or Buckland, but we would not wish to begin mining there without your approval. In the beginning we will start prospecting – if we decide to start mining, perhaps we could hold another meeting? We are prepared to offer reasonable terms.” 

Gorbadoc said reluctantly, “I don’t know. We already have dwarves enough going through the Shire. But I’ll let Beau here speak for me.” 

Bilbo turned to Balin, “Master Balin, we are simple folk. It is unlikely that we would need anything you could give us. Before we consider your proposal, I have a few questions I would like to ask you, if I may.” 

Balin nodded gravely.

“What is prospecting? How many dwarves will it need?” 

Frar replied softly, “Just 4-5 prospectors, with some assistants. Maybe 20-25 in all. Perhaps more to start with, and a couple extra to travel to the Shire every couple of weeks to replenish their stocks. It should take us about 2 months to study the rocks and check the veins. We’ll need to dig some holes into the mountain, of course.” 

“And once you start mining?” 

“About 100-200 Dwarrows, perhaps.” Balin answered.

“How badly will the mountain be affected?” 

It was Miner Borin who replied, “All our mining goes deep into the mountain. We do not disturb the surface. We are Dwarrows, Master Baggins – our prospectors are highly sensitive – they listen to rocks to find the richest veins anywhere in the mountain, and we dig directly to the veins. Once the rich veins run out, we stop and do not go any deeper. We do not turn over tons of soil and ruin the landscape for flecks of gold.” 

“For how long would you mine?” 

“Hard to tell, since we haven’t even started prospecting.” Balin was getting more restless as he felt the disinterest coming off both the Hobbits.

“And how much of precious metals and gems do you hope to mine?

The Dwarrows looked at each other. Then Balin spoke, “That will be clearer after prospecting. But that would be information we could not share.” 

Bilbo nodded, “I beg your pardon, Master Balin. It was not my intent to pry. But I am curious – you have been mining in the Blue Mountains for years. You must have obtained gold and precious metals and minerals enough for several generations? How much gold do you need?”

The Dwarrows gasped and Dwalin rose threateningly. Bilbo stood his ground. He had decades of experience dealing with Aunt Camellia. These Dwarrows weren’t a patch on her. He did not even look at the other Dwarrows, but kept his gaze on Balin. 

Balin lifted a hand and Dwalin sat down again. Bilbo felt the shirrifs and the Ranger subtly relax on either side of him. 

“Master Baggins, let us be open with each other. Are you saying we are greedy?”

Bilbo said calmly. “No, Master Balin. I’m not saying you’re greedy. I am asking if you are.”

“I suppose it was too much to expect the people of the Shire to understand,” Balin said sadly. “There is no point in continuing this discussion, then.” He got up, shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Bilbo shook his head, “Master Balin, please sit down. I’m afraid I phrased myself too bluntly. We are simple folk, Master Balin. We have no need for precious metals or stone. We have no knowledge of mining. But perhaps if you explained?”

Balin sat back down. “Master Baggins, with all due respect, when you say you have no use for gold and jewellery, you are wrong.” 

“Enlighten me.”

“Your coinage is copper, silver and gold. Your cutlery is made of silver. I have seen several Hobbits wear gold and silver jewellery. That brocade waistcoat you are wearing has silver threads woven into it.” 

Bilbo looked down at his waistcoat and smiled. 

“Elves use jewellery sparsely, but the richer Elves have enough gold and silver thread in their clothing to make up for it. Men wear the most jewellery of all the races. Am I right, Master Ranger?” 

Ranger Windstorm waved a hand casually in agreement. 

“But Dwarrows do not merely mine precious metals or gems and crystals. Where do you think mercury, iron, zinc, copper, lead, tin, phosphorus, cobalt, and tungsten come from? I remember drinking with a young Hobbit who waxed enthusiastic about fireworks the other day – does he know where saltpetre and sulphur come from? Do you know where the chemicals used to dye the fabrics you’re wearing come from? From Dwarven mines. We seek and we find the deepest veins, the richest sources, so that we can supply the peoples of the earth while keeping the land untouched.” 

Balin stopped for a few seconds, looking pensive. “Granted, when we lived in Erebor, such an accusation could have been levelled at us. Erebor was the richest mountain in the world, crisscrossed with thick veins of precious metals and stone – you almost could lift a hand and pick out nuggets of gold from the walls. The kingdom was the richest in the world, bar none. But since we lost Erebor, fortune has turned away from us.” 

Fili placed a hand on Balin’s shoulder, comfortingly, and the older Dwarf covered it with his own. 

Bilbo swallowed. He had known none of this, and Balin’s emotion made him feel like a monster. 

“But today, such accusations are meaningless. We mine the Blue Mountain range, but not for gold or silver – we mine it for other metals. Mostly iron, but also copper, lead, tin, antimony, bismuth, zinc. Which brings in enough money to sustain our population and help it grow, but not enough to make us prosperous or ensure that the next generation will have enough to live on. What would you have us do, Master Baggins?” 

Bilbo got up and went to the window, overwhelmed by the self-doubts brought upon by this simple retelling of facts. He looked outside. A carriage stood in the yard – gleaming wood and polished iron – did the iron come from the Blue Mountains? All the world was connected. Had his travels taught him nothing? Since when had he become so xenophobic? The dwarves, no - Dwarrows, were possibly some of the things the Men and Elves had called them, but who was he to judge them with no proof? And by what criteria? Did their huge beards make them less respectable merely because Hobbits did not grow beards?

The room was silent behind him. Waiting. It was in his hands now – Gorbadoc would follow his lead. He could reject the proposal and condemn this battered, proud nation to many more years of ill-paid slogging, or he could give them a chance at a better life. He knew very well that where the Master of Buckland led, the Shire followed. Reject this proposal, and the Dwarrows would get no entry anywhere around the Shire. 

He returned to the table but remained standing. “Master Balin, I apologise. My questions were impertinent, but you have answered more fully than I could have hoped for. You have my support, and that of the Baggins family. I suggest a simple 100-year certificate giving your people rights to mine the mountain, signed by the Mayor, the Thain, and Master Gorbadoc, witnessed by a Ranger, in return for a trade agreement whereby you agree to buy a certain value of provisions in Buckland and the Shire every year. In addition, Master Balin, we are much in need of smiths, and I believe Dwarrows are good at metalwork? Perhaps you could set up a smithy in the Shire? What do you say, Master Gorbadoc?” 

“Yes, yes. I completely agree.” Gorbadoc was touchingly happy to see an end to talks that he wasn’t particularly interested in. “Your mining won’t disturb us, except we will have more dwarves travelling along the East Road.” 

Balin looked at Bilbo, apparently undecided on whether he should be relieved or not. “What kind of trade agreement did you have in mind, Master Baggins? Provisions do not cost very much.” 

“True. Let’s say 100 silver coins a year? Like this one?” He reached into his pocket, took out his purse and rummaged within it, finding what he needed. He spun the silver coin over to Balin, who caught it. It was a 30g coin with Rohan’s seal on it. 

Balin studied it for a bit, then handed it over to his scribe, who quickly weighed it with a pair of small scales, then took an etching of it with paper and pencil. 

“Those terms are acceptable to us, Master Baggins. And we thank you.” 

The main part over, the discussions moved over to the Shirrifs and the Rangers, and several minutes passed as they discussed road conditions, seasonal changes, rules of the road, and dangers. Bilbo was free to sit back and watch the Dwarrows. He was feeling a little disoriented. He had come to the meeting with an attitude of disdain. Now he didn’t know what he felt, except that judging people before meeting them was a really stupid thing to do. Balin was so dignified, the young prince so smiling and enthusiastic, and Dwalin certainly looked like a warrior who could kill orcs and wargs. Elves they were not, but in their earthiness perhaps closer to Hobbits than to Elves. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Bilbo sensed the meeting was drawing to a close. He stepped out and asked the innkeeper to bring over ale and snacks to toast their successful discussions. The mood of the meeting had already changed, after Bilbo supported the Dwarrows. Now the room was livelier, and the individual groups had mixed – Dwalin in a huddle with the Shirrifs, Fili sitting up on the table and laughing with – or more likely at – the Ranger, who seemed to be indulging him. Balin, Borin and Frar were deep in discussions with Gorbadoc, who seemed quite satisfied. Bilbo homed in on the scribe, sitting alone. Scribes knew everything. 

“Master Farin?” 

The scribe turned around, looking flustered. “Master Baggins!” 

Bilbo sat down in the chair next to the Dwarf and held out his hand, “Master Farin, I’m very pleased to meet you. I do some writing as well, in a small way, but I’m honoured to meet someone for whom writing is a profession.” 

Farin looked puzzled, but rather pleased. “Thank you for the kind words, Master Baggins. I do love to write and read.” 

Bilbo looked at the text on the papers. “That’s not a script I’m familiar with.” 

“Oh it wouldn’t be. Khuzdul is a secret language, you know. We don’t share it with outsiders.” 

“Ah yes. But you do use the common tongue as well?

“Yes. And Sindarin. The others don’t approve of my learning an elven language, but it comes in very handy while travelling.” 

“Indeed it does. I have learnt Sindarin as well, but am not at all fluent. Do you travel a lot?” 

“Oh yes. I go wherever there are negotiations to be done. It’s in the family. My grandfather was the Royal Scribe at Erebor, and he continued to serve King Thror in exile. He died a hero’s death at the battle of Khazad-dum.” 

“Khazad-dum?”

“Our ancient city in the Misty Mountains. It’s called Moria now. But to us Dwarrows it will always be Khazad-dum.”

Bilbo’s ears perked up. “Your grandfather died in battle? That must have been quite a shock.” 

“Nay, I wasn’t even born then. Even my father was but a lad.” 

Bilbo felt disoriented. He tried to remember Rose’s words. She had clearly said her lover was a veteran of Khazad-dum. That would make him much older, he guessed. “How many years ago was the war?” 

“Oh about 150 years.” 

Too long ago. Something didn’t add up. “You still remember the tales, then.” 

“We can never forget. That was the day both King Thror and Prince Thrain were killed by the Pale Orc.” 

“So, your people lost the war?” 

“We did lose the war, eventually, but we won that battle. The soldiers rallied behind Prince Thorin, who pushed back the orcs using an oaken branch as a shield, and killed Azog. He’s called Thorin Oakenshield, now.” 

“He sounds like a brave warrior.” 

“Yes, and at the time he was even younger than my father, who was considered too young to fight.” 

“You say you lost the war. How was that?”

Before Farin could reply, Gorbadoc called Bilbo over and he excused himself and went over. 

He pulled up a chair next to Balin, who gave him a friendly smile. 

“Beau, could I ask you for a favour?”

“Yes, of course. Anything.” 

“Could you be the liaison with Master Balin’s people? Bag End is a few days closer to the Blue Mountains than Brandybuck Hall. And since you’re already our liaison with the Men and Elves…” 

Balin said dryly, “The Elves are not our friends, Master Baggins.” 

“Hobbits have no enemies, Master Balin.” 

Balin pursed his lips, “There are those out in the world who are enemies of all of Eru’s peoples.” 

“Yes, but I was not speaking of the Enemy’s minions.”

Balin nodded appreciatively. “Master Baggins. Forgive me for my curiosity, but you have a knowledge of the world I have not seen in other Hobbits. Begging your pardon, Master Brandybuck.”

“No need to beg my pardon, Master Balin. Beau here is a wonder – travels abroad regularly, takes after his pretty mom that way. But he’s still a Baggins through and through – as high a stickler as they come. You cannot have a better guide to Hobbit etiquette than Beau if you mean to socialise. So you don’t tread on any toes, you know.” 

Balin smiled and nodded. Bilbo grinned back, rather charmed by the elderly Dwarf. “I’ll be happy to be your liaison, Master Balin. And meet you for drinks and a discussion of Hobbit and Dwarf customs any time you’re passing this area.” 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

**Three days later. The Green Hobbit inn. Michel Delving**

Fili knocked at the door of a room at The Green Hobbit. It was thrown open, Kili almost flew out at his older brother and knocked their foreheads together. Balin watched them indulgently. 

“Mahal, it’s good to see you! How did it go?” 

“Well, quite well. Where’s Uncle?” 

“Next door.” 

Balin knocked on the door and Thorin opened it. He looked drawn and tired, as if he’d spent a sleepless night. 

He smiled, though and hugged Fili. They all squeezed inside and sat down, Thorin on a chair, the others on the bed. 

“Where are the others?” 

“On the way to Celeb Brill.” 

Thorin smiled, a smidgen of hope showing in his eyes. “So, did they agree? What did we need to promise them? Not my firstborn, I hope.” 

“Hardly anything. I’ve signed a 100-year agreement with the three Hobbit power centres – the Mayor, the Thain, and the Master of Buckland. All we have done is promise to spend 100 silver coins every year in the Shire. Oh, and set up a smithy, which would be to our benefit, anyway.” 

Thorin stared, “Balin, that’s unbelievable. 100 silver coins is only about double what we already spend here. How did you manage it? I did not expect such a treaty to be signed at all, let alone on such easy terms!” 

Fili said with a big grin, “Balin’s magical oratory did it, Uncle! You should have heard him – he was brilliant!” 

Thorin smiled at his nephew, and the lines of worry smoothed out a little. “Do tell.” 

“May I?” Fili asked. Balin smiled and nodded. 

“So uncle, there we were in this meeting room, with the head Hobbit, the Master of Buckland. And there were the Shirrifs and a Ranger. And not one of them seemed friendly. Not hateful, mind you, just indifferent. Which was fine, I guess, because why would they care? We were prepared to offer reasonable terms – it was up to them to accept it. So Balin started speaking and the head Hobbit was shaking his head, and you know what that means. So we were prepared for failure from the start.” 

Thorin nodded, a deep abiding pain in his eyes. 

“And then this younger Hobbit walks in. You should have seen him, Uncle. Golden hair, and blue eyes, and dressed in brocades and silks like, like… an Elf! With pointy ears as well. Pretty much bosom buddies with everyone else at the table – you should have seen them light up when he came in, even the Ranger. And he stood there absolutely radiating distrust at us. I took one look at him and I said to myself, this is a Hobbit who’s been cohabiting with those… tree-shaggers!” 

Thorin shot Fili a sharp look, “Well, go on!” 

“The head Hobbit asked the younger Hobbit to take over the discussions, which he did. And asked Balin a whole lot of impertinent questions. Even Balin gave up after a while and got up to leave. Didn’t you, Balin? But as we were getting up, the Hobbit suddenly said he wasn’t trying to be impertinent, but trying to understand why prospecting at Celeb Brill was important to us. And Balin sat back down and completely floored him with the answer. Totally. You’ve never seen anyone as flummoxed as that Hobbit was. He actually had to walk off to have a think about it.” 

“And then?” Kili asked impatiently. 

“When he came back, he did a complete about-face. Said he supported us, and suggested this agreement. The old Hobbit immediately went along with it. He obviously didn’t want to think too much. And the Shirrifs and Ranger agreed as well, and there we were. And the young Hobbit ordered food and drink for everyone, and sat and talked to all of us, and all of the distrust had gone, completely. When I am 200 years old, I want to be like Balin. He’s brilliant.” Fili finished with a broad grin. 

Thorin smiled, “Is that pretty much what happened, Balin?” 

Balin laughed. “Somewhat, yes. But I don’t think it was my oratory. The Hobbit lad obviously wanted to do the right thing, despite his prejudice, and was prepared to put in the effort. And he was a Hobbit with a spine. He said something a bit off, and you know my brother – he was on his feet in a moment. The Hobbit didn’t even flinch, just looked at me steadily as if to say – that’s your chap, keep him in line.” 

“I liked him, too,” said Fili. “You know he’s our liaison with the Shire now. We chatted after the meeting and he was really nice. Invited us to his house for tea. That was a first.” 

Thorin looked up. “Really? Invited you for tea?” 

“And all our friends. Tea is at 4, he said, and there’s always plenty of it. He was nice, Uncle Thorin. Nicer than any Hobbit I’ve met.” 

Balin nodded gravely, “Yes. For all the distrust he came with, he proved to be unusually open-minded. A bit of a scholar and a linguist, well-travelled, well-respected, but under all that respectability I saw a craving for adventure, a recklessness. An interesting young Hobbit, and one I would be happy to meet again.” 

Thorin looked wistful. “A craving for adventure? I wonder, if he really knew what adventures consisted of, would he crave them? If he knew that adventures did not always bring us back home again?” 

Balin shook his head sadly, “I hope experience never teaches him that, as it taught us.” 

“What was he called, this admirable young Hobbit?”

“Baggins. Beau Baggins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who noticed that Bilbo calls Fili the King's son, that's simply because he doesn't know Fili is Thorin's nephew. Also, you may have noticed he starts off calling them Dwarves, but changes to calling them Dwarrows after he realises that's what they call themselves.


	3. Beau Baggins and the Appreciation of Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bilbo had to confess as he took a second look, this Dwarf was definitely worth looking at. Thick long black hair fell to his waist, a huge fur coat emphasised his muscular shoulders, well-worn armour covered him to his knees, and below that he wore heavy, iron tipped boots. This was definitely a warrior, every inch of him. And his face – symmetrical features, well defined jaw, a straight nose, and a luminous pair of blue eyes. Yavanna help him, this was surely the most attractive creature he had ever seen.**

**Michel Delving**

Michel Delving was the largest town in the Shire. After taking Rose over to the tailor for measurements, Bilbo dropped her off at Noel Whitfoot’s house. While Rose spent time with Noel’s oldest daughter Barbara, Bilbo took a bag of mathoms over to the Mathom House – Rose’s dresses that she had outgrown, a perfectly good saddle and some knick-knacks that didn’t go with the smial’s décor any more. 

A few new mathoms had appeared since his last visit, among them a couple of books in Sindarin! How they had made their way there was anyone’s guess. Bilbo promptly put them into his saddle bag and walked on, leading his horse. He was quite thirsty and needed a drink. 

There was an inn nearby, if he remembered right. And yes, there was. “The Green Hobbit”. He gratefully handed Buttercup over to a little Hobbit lad, and went inside. 

He entered the door, and walked up to the counter. The pub owner came across immediately. “Master Baggins! It’s good to see you!” 

“Ah Bill. It’s good to see you too! Good weather we’re having, isn’t it?” 

“Great for the crops, but bad for business, Master Baggins.” Bill Brownlock laughed. Bilbo remembered the joke from his last visit and laughed. 

“What can I get you?” 

“A flagon of your home-brewed, Bill. And perhaps some fried taters if you have them?” 

“At once, Master Baggins. If you’ll have a seat?” 

Bilbo went over to a nice seat by the wall and sat down. He looked around for familiar faces, but didn’t see any. There were just three Hobbits over by the right wall, and from the look of them they were farmers from the Far Downs. Staying here overnight, he guessed. But for that the inn was empty. 

Except for a lone figure standing by the window. Bilbo looked up, interested. That was no Man. Surely that was a Dwarf? He was the tallest Dwarf Bilbo had ever seen, over 5 feet, but that breadth of shoulder couldn’t belong to a Man. It was this business of Rose, Bilbo told himself dourly, that had him studying every Dwarf he saw. 

Although, Bilbo had to confess as he took a second look, this Dwarf was definitely worth looking at. Thick long black hair fell to his waist, a huge fur coat emphasised his muscular shoulders, well-worn armour covered him to his knees, and below that he wore heavy, iron tipped boots. This was definitely a warrior, every inch of him. Bilbo had thought Dwalin the consummate warrior when he met him, but now he knew he was mistaken. This Dwarf was miles ahead of Dwalin. He started where Dwalin left off. And his face – symmetrical features, well defined jaw, a straight nose, and a luminous pair of blue eyes. Yavanna help him, this was surely the most attractive creature he had ever seen. 

Bilbo suddenly realised those luminous eyes were now focused on him, questioningly. He felt a sudden jolt, ¬as if something scalding hot had run through his body. He looked away and knew he was blushing. A few seconds later, he looked back to find the stranger’s eyes resting on him still, but now with a smile in them. Bilbo turned back to his drink, his heart thundering in his throat. Who was this Dwarf? 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw the stranger was now chatting with one of the Hobbits who had been sitting at the table. They finished their conversation, and the Hobbit said “Goodbye, then, Master Durin!” and walked back to join his friends. They all walked out of the pub together. 

Bilbo’s heart almost stopped. He turned back to look at the Dwarf and met those eyes again. The Dwarf’s eyes twinkled and he almost smiled. 

Bilbo took his courage in both hands, got up and walked over to the Dwarf. 

“Master Durin?”

“Yes?” The Dwarf smiled down at him disconcertingly. 

Up close, Bilbo saw lines of silver in the thick black hair. This Dwarf was not as young as he had first appeared. “I would like to speak with you.” 

“I did not imagine Hobbits were so forward,” the stranger said, his eyes glinting in amusement. 

Bilbo felt his face heating up but stood his ground. “Shall we sit?” Bilbo had no intention of continuing this conversation literally looking up at the Dwarf. The height difference was less intimidating when they were both seated.

“If you prefer,” the Dwarf said amiably and sat down heavily at a corner table. 

“My name is William Baggins.”

The stranger waited politely. 

“You probably know of me as Uncle Bill.”

The stranger stared at him for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Uncle Bill? Really? You’re far too young to be anyone’s Uncle.”

“You should have thought of that before courting my niece!” Bilbo hissed, trying to keep his voice down. 

“Your niece?” 

“My niece Rose!” 

“Mahal help me, the lad’s moon-bitten. I don’t remember ever meeting a Rose. Is that really a name?” 

Bilbo took a deep breath. “I’m neither moon-bitten, nor a lad. I’m the head of the Baggins family and known across the Shire as Beau Baggins. You can ask anyone.” Bilbo suddenly wondered why he was on the defensive. He wasn’t the one who needed to prove anything here. 

The Dwarf looked at him with an arrested gaze. “Beau Baggins, did you say?”

“Yes.” 

“The Beau Baggins who is our liaison with the Shire?” 

“Yes.” 

The Dwarf suddenly turned serious. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Master Baggins. Master Balin has nothing but good to say about you.” The stranger put out a huge hand with surprisingly shapely fingers, yet hard and callused. Bilbo shook it with his own smaller hand quickly, not allowing himself to linger over the touch. 

“Master Balin is very kind. But we are getting away from the subject.” 

“The subject, yes. Your niece. She must surely be very young? Are you sure you should be letting anyone court her?” And the mischievous glint was back in the Dwarf’s eye.

“I’m pretty sure I should not be! But you have got around her with your charm, and presence and looks and tales of battle! This will not do – you are far too old for her.” 

The Dwarf looked dumbfounded. He stared at Bilbo and didn’t reply. 

“I mean it – you’re too old for her.” 

The Dwarf shook his black locks, looking stunned. “Could you repeat that?”

“You’re too old for her.”

“No, the other thing.”

“You’ve got around her with your charm…” Bilbo clapped a hand to his mouth and the Dwarf sat back with a satisfied smirk. 

Bilbo felt as if smoke were coming out of his ears. He couldn’t decide if he were more angry or embarrassed. “Be that as it may. Will you stop courting Rose?” 

“I can’t do that, Master Baggins.”

“Why not?” Bilbo growled. 

“Because I never started.” 

Bilbo covered his face with his hands and just sat there, breathing hard. 

“Master Baggins? Are you all right?” 

Bilbo looked up. It was Bill with the ale and chips. 

“No, I’m fine. Thanks, Bill”. 

Bill set down the flagon and plate, gave the Dwarf a suspicious look and went away. 

Bilbo looked up to find intense blue eyes looking at him teasingly. The Dwarf reached over with one beefy arm and picked up a few of the fried chips. With automatic hospitality, Bilbo pushed the plate over till it was halfway between them and picked up a few himself. 

“All right. There seems to have been a misunderstanding. Rose told me her admirer’s name was Durin. I heard the Hobbit who just left call you Durin. I suppose there’s another Durin I must look for.” He munched on the chips.

“You won’t find him, Master Baggins.” 

“And why not?” 

“Because he died 900 years ago. If you mean Durin the sixth king of the line.” 

Bilbo put his head down on the table, uncaring of his curls. 

“Have some ale, Master Baggins.” 

Bilbo glared up at his tormenter. 

“Talking to you is like talking to an eel! Can’t you give me a straight answer for once?” Bilbo wailed. 

“I could, but this is much more entertaining. Mahal, if I had known Hobbits were such sources of pleasure, I would have kidnapped one ages ago.” 

Now that was definitely a leer. Bilbo picked up a chip and threw it at the Dwarf, who caught it, laughing a low rumble of a laugh, his blue eyes glowing with amusement. 

“I apologise, Master Baggins. I’ll try to explain. Can I tell you a bit of history first?” 

Bilbo glared. This Dwarf was making him look ridiculous. Bilbo Baggins, diplomat of the Shire, bandying wits – and chips - with a chance-met Dwarf? And losing? He would never be able to live this down. 

The Dwarf didn’t seem put off by the glare at all. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and his deep voice rumbled, sending vibrations through the benches. Bilbo found his mouth was suddenly dry, and took a deep swig of the ale. 

“A long time ago, King Thror, of the Line of Durin, ruled Erebor, the most prosperous kingdom in Middle-Earth. But a dragon attacked them, and the people had to migrate far to the west, to the Blue Mountains. Other Dwarrows joined them, too, but most of the Dwarrows in the Blue Mountains are from Erebor. Thus they are called Durin’s Folk. Most of the Dwarrows call themselves Durins.” 

“So what you’re saying is, you’re all Durins, after a fashion.” 

The Dwarf smirked and sat back. 

Bilbo hit his head on the table again, then looked up. “I sent him a letter asking him to meet me. He may not have got it.”

“Where did you send it?”

“To an inn in Bree.” 

“I’m pretty sure he would have got it. How many of Durin’s Folk do you think will be staying at an inn in Bree?” 

Bilbo considered that briefly. Then he looked up at the Dwarf, who was still smiling down at him. “And I, er, apologise. It was a misunderstanding, as you see. It was not my intent to insult you.” 

“I apologise as well for my first comment. I should have known such a handsome young Hobbit couldn’t be interested in a grizzled old Dwarf like me.” He sighed dramatically. 

Bilbo was about ready to tear his hair out. He couldn’t think up a witty reply to that, not with those blue eyes on him, so instead he got up with dignity and went to the counter to pay. 

Bill Brownlock came up close to him and asked, “Any trouble there, Master Baggins?” 

Bilbo grimaced, “No. He just has a strange sense of humour, that’s all.” 

Bill’s face cleared. “He’s been staying here for a while, with a younger Dwarf. His nephew, I believe. This one seemed quiet, unlike the younger one, but there now, one can’t always tell. Do you have business with him?” 

“I thought I did, but apparently I don’t. Not yet, anyway. Unless… ” 

He walked back to the table. “Master Dwarf.” 

“Oh, call me Durin. They all do.” 

“May I ask you something?” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“Would you know a particular Dwarf? Around 80 years old, a warrior, very handsome and charming, and related to the King?” 

Durin’s brows snapped together, “I can think of two, but neither lives in Bree.”

“Who?” 

“The Heir, and his brother.” 

“No – I don’t think he’s royal himself. And I’ve met Prince Fili – it’s not him. A third cousin or so, maybe.” 

Durin’s face cleared. “I can’t think of anyone, but I’ll ask around. If I find anything of interest, shall I write to you?” 

And there was that disturbing smile again. Bilbo said quickly, “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll probably meet him before that, in any case.” He paused, “Er… can I ask you to please keep this to yourself? I know I haven’t made a good impression on you, but you don’t want an innocent girl’s reputation to suffer, do you?” 

“Don’t worry, Master Baggins, I can be discreet. And don’t worry about the impression you made on me either. I think you did just fine.” 

Bilbo smiled at the Dwarf. “Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you.” 

“Likewise. I hope to see you again soon.” 

Bilbo shook his head and quickly left the inn, feeling strangely discombobulated. He had made an utter fool of himself in front of a very attractive Dwarf. He hoped he never ran into him again. 

Behind him, Thorin Oakenshield, King-in-exile, leader of the Longbeards, smiled, bemused. He was used to seeing respect in the eyes of Durin’s Folk, but not admiration. “Charm, and presence and looks” – he mused over those words. Presence? A prince always had presence, and Thorin, like any of Durin’s line, was well trained in dwarven etiquette. Charm and looks? Not so much. 

Beau Baggins. Why had Balin not mentioned that he was extremely attractive?. Perhaps not by dwarven standards, but to Thorin’s eyes, he was beautiful. And he made Thorin feel young, irresponsible, a little giddy. He would like to see this Hobbit again. From a close distance. Much closer. Mahal! He had been celibate for far too long, if a pretty little Hobbit could so stir his blood. 

“Master Dwarf.” 

Thorin looked up to see the pub owner looking at him. “Yes, Master Hobbit?” 

The Hobbit swallowed, but stood his ground. “I have something to say. About Master Baggins.” 

“I would love to hear it.” Thorin said graciously, actually interested. 

“He’s a real gentlehobbit. And anyone who hurts him will make an enemy of the entire Shire.” The Hobbit practically vibrated, torn between fear of the burly Dwarf, and conviction that this needed to be said. 

Thorin sat up immediately. “I would not hurt him for the world. Why would you think that?” 

“You were flirting with him.” Bill said accusingly.

Thorin blinked. “I was only joking! But does it matter? He’s obviously not interested in Dwarrows.”

Bill pursed his lips. “Do you know why they call the Bag End Bagginses real gentlehobbits?”

“No, I’ve never even heard of Bag End. Do sit down and tell me all about it.” Thorin smiled. Much stronger personages than Bill had been shaken by that smile. Bill took the invitation and sat down. 

“You see, the Shire has its first families, like the Bagginses, Tooks, Bolgers, Chubbs, Hornblowers, Proudfeet, Sackvilles, Underhills. They mostly own farms, vineyards, orchards which they lease to farmers. So they don’t actually have to work with their hands. We call them gentlehobbits.” 

Thorin nodded encouragingly. It was quite obvious that Beau Baggins didn’t really work with his hands, except perhaps some genteel pursuits. Unlike Thorin, who still went down into the mines with his people, and wielded the forge as often as any other smith in Thorin’s Hall. His hands were hard as rock, unlike the petal-soft skin Thorin had felt when he and Beau had shaken hands. 

“But we only call a few of them “real” gentleHobbits, because what matters is not whether they get their hands dirty or not, but kindness, generosity and good manners. And the Bagginses of Bag End have had it in spades, since the time of Bungo Baggins.” 

Thorin nodded. He could easily believe it. From what Balin had recounted of the meeting, he’d got the impression of a kind soul, keen to do what was right. 

“Anyone who drops in at Bag End, any time of the day, gets a meal before they leave. During winters, the Bagginses have taken in and fed homeless families who would have frozen outside. When Master Baggins’ farm at Nobottle burnt down, he housed and fed his tenant’s entire family for a year till it was rebuilt. In the summer, travellers through Hobbiton know that they can camp in the party field behind Bag End, and they will get food and water. There is hardly a soul in the Shire or in Buckland that does not know Master Baggins, and fewer that will speak ill of him.” 

Thorin nodded, his eyes softening. “Don’t worry, Master Hobbit. Durin’s Folk owe Master Baggins a huge debt. We Dwarrows know who our friends are.”


	4. Thorin Oakenshield and the Wolves at Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A way further up the road, on a rock, sat the beautiful Dwarf he had met in Michel Delving. Even covered in blood, his expression grim and forbidding, he was beautiful. He was glaring at his arm, unsuccessfully trying to remove the sleeve with fingers slippery with blood. Leaning against the rock was a huge sword, dripping with blood. Bilbo bit off a few swear words at his useless brethren, none of whom had thought to help the Dwarf who had saved their lives.**

**Three days later. Brandywine Bridge.**

As soon as Bilbo reached the Inn on the western side of the bridge, he knew something was wrong. Screams and shouting came faintly from the other side of the bridge, a long distance away. Bilbo turned – the ostler was standing at the gate, looking uncertain whether to leave his post and investigate the sounds. 

There was only one thing to do. The dandy of the Shire may have been afraid of getting his sleeves rumpled, but he never backed away from real danger. The blood of Bullroarer Took flowed in his veins after all. He had no weapons, though. And perhaps there were wounded who would need help. He thought quickly and turned to the ostler, a familiar figure. 

“Jack!” Bilbo yelled. 

The ostler turned. 

“Throw me the medikit! And get me that sword out of the display!” 

Jack ran back into the tavern and ran out with a box that he threw up to Bilbo. He also handed up an old sword in a scabbard. Bilbo prayed the sword was still somewhat sharp. He patted Rainbow on the neck and said, “Come on, girl”, and Rainbow spread her long legs out into a gallop. 

When they neared the bridge, he saw the first of a terrified crowd of Hobbits running back. One of them broke away from the crowd and ran towards him. 

“Master Baggins! Don’t cross the bridge – we saw wolves!”

Bilbo shook his head, “They may need help. Don’t worry – I have a sword.” He lifted it up. 

Hamish stood back and Bilbo spurred the pony forward, her hooves clattering on the bridge, which rapidly emptied. 

Bilbo reached the other side of the bridge in a state of adrenalin and apprehension. But apparently the disturbance, whatever it was, was over. On one side of the road, several Hobbits sat around on the grass. Some had fainted, but none seemed to have more than bruises and scratches. On the road, in varying states of gruesomeness lay the corpses of seven wolves. One was definitely decapitated. The road was spattered with gore. 

Bilbo felt nauseous for a second, then sternly pulled himself together, got down, and led the pony over to a tree, upwind from the wolves’ bodies. He got off, tied her to the tree, and looked around. Then he stilled. 

A way further up the road, on a rock, sat the beautiful Dwarf he had met in Michel Delving. Even covered in blood, his expression grim and forbidding, he was beautiful. He was glaring at his arm, unsuccessfully trying to remove the sleeve with fingers slippery with blood. Leaning against the rock was a huge sword, dripping with blood. Bilbo bit off a few swear words at his useless brethren, none of whom had thought to help the Dwarf who had saved their lives. 

He ran over to the Dwarf. “Master Durin!” 

The Dwarf looked up testily, but when he saw who it was, his expression lightened and he smiled. “Ah, Master Baggins! I’m very pleased to see you again!” 

“Are you hurt?”

“My arm. I can’t get this wretched sleeve off.” 

“Allow me.” 

He tried pulling the sleeve off, but from the way the Dwarf was gritting his teeth, it wasn’t a good idea. 

“Do you mind if I take your coats off?” 

“Never,” Durin grinned. 

Bilbo rolled his eyes at that. Pesky Dwarf must already be feeling better, or was “flirt” his default mode?

He began to carefully take off the heavy layers of blood spattered fabric – the huge surcoat of fur went first, then the silver belt and the deep blue velvet coat, then the armour and leather vambraces, and finally Durin was sitting there in just a black shirt. 

On the bright side, he didn’t look so bloody any more, most of the blood having got onto his coats and armour. Plus Durin in his shirt, even just after a battle, was possibly the most fascinating sight ever. Bilbo could see the muscles rippling even through the dark fabric. On the not-so-bright side, he could now see where a wolf’s teeth had bitten into the arm, tearing the shirt and pushing the fabric into the wound. Luckily it was a shallow wound, but there was a fair amount of blood. Bilbo was actually not sure how much was the Dwarf’s, and how much the wolves’. 

“I’ll have to cut off the sleeve.” 

“Go ahead. The shirt is ruined, anyway.” He handed Bilbo a small dagger, with which Bilbo carefully cut off the sleeve. Bilbo took out one of his fine lace-edged handkerchiefs and softly mopped up the blood. 

“Master Baggins.” 

A hesitant voice made him turn around. Five Hobbits were standing there, shuffling their feet. 

“Yes?” Bilbo asked coldly. He was still annoyed that the Hobbits hadn’t offered to help their rescuer.

The others pushed the tallest Hobbit forward. He stuttered, “We wanted to thank Master Dwarf and ask if we could help.” Another Hobbit handed a canteen of water to Durin, who took it, bowed his head in acknowledgement, and drank thirstily. 

Bilbo’s brow cleared. “Yes, of course. This is Master Durin.” 

The Dwarf laughed. “No, that’s not my name, although we are Durin’s Folk. My name’s Thorin Oakenshield. At your service.” 

Thorin. A lovely name for a lovely Dwarf. Where had he heard it before? Bilbo dismissed the thought and turned back to where the Hobbits were shaking hands with Thorin, awkwardly but eagerly and with real gratitude and respect. A Hobbit helped Bilbo wet some more handkerchiefs and clean up the rapidly drying blood. It would need stitches, but it could wait till they were back at the Inn. Bilbo sent off one of the younger Hobbits to bring the apothecary to the inn. 

The other Hobbits gathered around, and Thorin patiently shook hands with the bolder among them even as Bilbo cleaned his wound, applied the ointment and bandaged it up securely. And if he briefly squeezed Bilbo’s hand for support, Bilbo didn’t begrudge it. 

After their first hesitation, the Hobbits proved surprisingly helpful. Four of them hauled Thorin’s coats and armour off to the laundry. Another wiped off his sword and daggers. In short order, the wolf carcasses had been carted off to the furrier, and sand and leaves put down to hide the blood. 

“Uh – where are they taking my coats?” 

“To the laundry. They’ll clean it all up and bring it back to you within hours.” 

Thorin shook his head. “I can’t wait that long. I have to get to Celeb Brill tonight.” 

Bilbo shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere today. You’ve lost blood, and the wolf bite could get infected. You need to rest up, at least today. You can travel tomorrow morning, if you feel well enough.” 

“I need to leave, Master Baggins. My friends will be waiting for me.”  
“It’s not a matter of life or death, is it?”

“No…” 

“Then it can wait. Because I’m not letting you walk 40 miles today. You’ll go back to the Inn, where I’ve called the apothecary, and you’ll get the rest and medicines you need.” 

“The inn near the bridge? The innkeeper doesn’t give rooms to Dwarrows.” 

“What?” 

Thorin didn’t say anything. 

Bilbo growled. “I’m pretty sure he’ll change his tune. And if he doesn’t, he’ll deal with me. Ah, here comes the carriage.” 

“Why? I can walk.” Thorin got up heavily, but had to reach out for support. Bilbo grabbed his hand and held it strongly. Thorin was surprised at the strength that lay beneath the soft skin. 

“Stubborn Dwarf. Just let me help you into the carriage. Hello! Bring the steps!” 

Bilbo helped Thorin into the carriage. Bilbo shook his head, got up on his horse and rode alongside, as the carriage took Thorin across the bridge, back to the inn. 

They caused a furore at the Inn when they came in – the excited Hobbits had spread the word of the warrior Dwarf who had slain 7 wolves in as many minutes, and the entire inn was full of people waiting to get a glimpse of the Dwarf. That he was escorted in by Beau Baggins didn’t cause much surprise, but certainly silenced any stray doubters. 

Thorin sat down and fortified himself with some brandy and smoked bacon, as curious Hobbits all over came to introduce themselves and thank him. One small fauntling even climbed onto his lap and fearlessly played with his braids while he held her steady with his good arm. 

But Bilbo could see exhaustion and blood loss taking its toll. Once the apothecary arrived, Bilbo efficiently dispersed the crowd and they led Thorin away into one of the Inn’s rooms. The innkeeper didn’t even think of objecting. He was as star-struck as the rest of the Hobbits, and falling all over himself to prepare the best suite of rooms. Bilbo offered to pay, but the innkeeper refused. Gratitude aside, with the number of Hobbits gathered there, he would make several times the room’s rent this evening alone. 

Bilbo sat down next to Thorin, and held his hand as the apothecary stitched him up. It was quite evidently painful, even with the pain draughts. 

Finally the apothecary left, and Thorin lay back against the pillows, spent. Bilbo looked at him in concern. He took off his traveling cloak and wrapped it around Thorin’s shoulders.

The door opened and two Hobbits came in. One set down Thorin’s travelling bag. The other set down his armour and weapons, all polished to a high shine, and said, “Master Oakenshield, your clothes and armour will be ready by tonight. I’ll bring them over when they’re done.” 

“Thank you, lad. How much do I owe for them?” 

The Hobbit shook his head. “No one will take money from you today, Master Oakenshield.” And with another bow, the two left. 

“They didn’t need to do that.” Thorin said softly. 

“Please, indulge us this once. Hobbits are slow, but not ungrateful. You saved our lives.” Bilbo took Thorin’s hand in his own without realising it. 

“Not yours. You weren’t there. Thank Mahal.” Thorin closed his eyes, the better to savour the feel of Bilbo’s soft hands. He was wounded, he told himself. Mahal would forgive him this indulgence. 

“I was riding toward the wolves, not away. What if you hadn’t killed the wolves before I got there? What if they had…” Bilbo’s throat constricted in fear. What if the wolves had killed Thorin instead? His grip on Thorin’s hands tightened. 

“Perhaps you would have killed them?” Thorin opened his eyes and smiled, very aware of what the tightening grip meant. 

Bilbo shuddered. “I don’t have such a huge sword.” 

“No?” Thorin waggled his eyebrows. 

Bilbo looked startled, then slammed his face down on his palm. “You’re incorrigible!” 

Thorin grinned, but as he saw Bilbo reddening, his expression grew serious. “Forgive me. You make me feel more playful than I have in years – but my rough jokes are not fit for a gentlehobbit’s ears.” 

Bilbo took refuge in dignity and changed the subject. “So you’re travelling to Celeb Brill?” 

“Yes. My friends will be waiting for me to join them.” 

“Are you a prospector, too?”

“All Dwarrows are, to some extent. And miners and smiths. Mahal has given us a special sense – we hear rock and metal and stone.” 

“And you’re a warrior as well.” Bilbo looked at the now cleaned and polished armour and weapons lying in the corner. They were clean, but there were scratches and dents that told of long years of battle. 

“Yes. Most of us train for battle, but only a few of us have seen one.” 

“Have you?” Where had he heard Thorin’s name in conjunction with a war?

“Yes.” Thorin didn’t elaborate and Bilbo didn’t press him, although he felt as if there was something he needed to remember. 

“I think you should rest today and travel tomorrow. I’ll order a carriage that will take you to the foothills, and ponies to take you and your luggage further.” 

“It’s but 40 miles from here. An easy day’s walk. There’s nothing wrong with my legs!” 

“Well, I’m not planning to walk 40 miles tomorrow.” Bilbo said casually.

Thorin blinked. “Were you planning to travel with me, young Master Hobbit?”

“My friends call me Bilbo.” 

Thorin smiled. “Interested in prospecting?”

“You could say that. May I come with you?” 

“I would be honoured to escort you to the mountains, Bilbo.” 

Bilbo placed a hand on Thorin’s arm. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning. Do try to get some rest. You look exhausted. When did you sleep last?”

Thorin dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. 

Bilbo gave up. To pursue the point would be rude. 

He squeezed Thorin’s arm gently. “Goodbye for now, Master Oakenshield. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“My friends call me Thorin.” 

Bilbo smiled. “Goodbye, Thorin.”


	5. Beau Baggins brings a chaperon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **About 3-4 hours later, Thorin was woken up by an anxious voice, “Thorin! Please, please wake up!”  
>  “Rory? What’s wrong?” Thorin asked blearily, foggily realising that Rory’s teeth were chattering.   
> “It’s very c-c-c-cold the fire has gone out. Bilbo is ill!” **

Brandywine Bridge to Celeb Brill 

When Thorin came out the next morning after breakfast, a carriage was already waiting for him. He was fully dressed in coats and armour again, and was feeling much more like himself. The apothecary had given him a box of ointments and bandages for his arm, but he could feel that it was already half-healed. He was glad Dwarrows were tough. The wound did not even hurt as badly as yesterday. In fact, he felt better than he had for years. He had slept well last night, and the expectation of seeing Bilbo again was making him feel light-headed and happy. 

One of the Inn’s Hobbits stacked his luggage behind the carriage. It was an open carriage, more suited to fast travel than the closed carriage that had taken him to the Inn yesterday. However, the driver was decidedly grumpier, and after his first cheery greetings were met with grunts, Thorin gave up. He wasn’t about to persist and ruin his upbeat mood. 

He looked around. Bilbo hadn’t turned up yet. He was just beginning to wonder how long he would have to wait when he heard the sound of horses’ hooves. Three ponies came through the gate. Bilbo led two pack ponies, another Hobbit sat jauntily on the third. 

“Thorin! You’re awake! You look much better!” Bilbo grinned, but Thorin thought he detected a bit of reserve in his manner that hadn’t been there the previous day. 

“Awake and ready, young Bilbo. Shall we go?” 

“Let’s start at once. Oh - let me introduce you to my cousin Rorimac Brandybuck, son of Gorbadoc, Master of Buckland.” 

Thorin bowed, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Master Brandybuck. Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.” 

Rory, a fresh-faced young Hobbit with hair like spun gold and eyes like saucers, gasped. “I’m at your service, Master Oakenshield. When Bilbo told me he was going prospecting, I just had to come along. I hope I won’t be in the way.” 

Thorin smiled, “No, of course not. Friends of Bilbo’s are always welcome to visit us.” 

Rory rode alongside the carriage. The well-trained pack-ponies were loosely tied to the carriage and trotted behind it. 

Rory kept up a running conversation with Bilbo for over an hour, and Thorin was amused at the insights he was getting into both Hobbits. Rory was evidently in awe of his older and immensely more fashionable cousin, but at the same time he seemed to consider his cousin a bit of a wet blanket. He was even more in awe of Thorin, having heard of his feats of the previous day, and was barely able to speak to him at all. Bilbo clearly liked Rory very much, and seemed comfortable with him. Puzzlingly, though, Bilbo seemed less comfortable with Thorin today than he had been yesterday. When he spoke to Thorin, he more often than not looked away into the distance, but in a manner that spoke of embarrassment rather than disinterest. 

When Rory galloped on ahead of the carriage, Thorin decided to throw caution to the winds and ask. “You are rather quiet today, Bilbo.” 

“Am I? Just looking at the scenery. It’s beautiful.” 

It certainly was. To their right, at a little distance was the northern edge of the Old Forest. Here the trees were less wild than to the south, being mostly pines and firs, standing tall and letting the wind play whispering music between them. To their left lay rolling plains, and at a distance the five jagged snow covered peaks of Celeb Brill, the silver mountain that soared over the landscape. [Note – this mountain is entirely my own invention. I plonked it down in an empty space on the map.] 

“Is this your first time on this road?” Thorin asked sceptically. 

“Heavens, no. But it’s still beautiful.” 

Thorin looked at Bilbo and smiled. He looked so young and innocent, and yes, quite beautiful in clothes, which, although designed for travel, were gorgeous: a light blue quilted waistcoat, a deep blue frieze coat, a cravat of rose silk, and a fine woollen travelling cloak, clasped at his breast with a silver brooch. Not quite the travel costume he would have chosen, but he couldn’t deny the Hobbit looked stunning. 

“But there’s something. Have I offended you? I do beg your pardon if I have.” 

“No, no, that’s not it.” 

Thorin looked at Bilbo closely. There was no mistaking the blush lighting up the Hobbit’s cheeks. Bilbo looked away at the peak and said, “I didn’t invite Rory, you know. And it wasn’t entirely his idea to come along. His mother, my aunt Mirabella, said it wasn’t proper for me to be travelling with you alone. And if a Took thinks it’s improper, it probably is.” 

Thorin scowled, “Why? Because I’m a Dwarf?” 

Bilbo shook his head. “I think she didn’t approve of the way I described you.” And there was the blush again. 

The scowl vanished and Thorin threw his head back and laughed. “You are really too kind to me, Bilbo. If I spend any more time with you, I’ll start primping like Dori.”

“Who’s Dori?”

“One of my cousins. A very handsome Dwarf, and very careful of his appearance. Now he is an example of true dwarven beauty. Alas, I have always been a rough soldier. I do not even braid my hair properly – it’s no use turning me into a dandy.”

Bilbo laughed too, then, and the ice between them was broken. 

After about 15 miles, the carriage turned off the Great Eastern Road to a bumpy dirt track. They trundled along another 25 miles north and the land started sloping up as they neared the base. 

The carriage stopped. Bilbo got out to talk to the driver, and Thorin pulled out his luggage with his one good arm. Rory got down as well and helped Thorin hang his bags on his own horse. From here on they would all have to walk. 

“Master Oakenshield.”

“Please, call me Thorin.” 

Rory smiled at him brilliantly and said, “Oh thank you. Please call me Rory. I wanted to ask you – how far away is Ered Luin?” 

The carriage turned back and Bilbo joined them. As they walked, Thorin talked about New Belegost, the ancient mines, the beauty of the mountain and its biting cold in winter. Rory listened avidly, losing his shyness. Thorin wasn’t particularly fond of Hobbits, other than one, but he was warming to them. The appreciative and grateful Hobbits at the bridge and the Inn had broken down some of his defences. Rory’s obvious awe and respect were a balm to his soul – so often had Dwarrows met with distrust and ill treatment from the other races, including Hobbits. Thorin insisted on Bilbo going ahead of them, in case, Mahal forbid, any creature attacked them from the rear. 

When it grew too steep, the path wound around the mountain and travelling became slower. When it grew dark, they stopped and camped out on a little plateau. This side of the mountain was quite bare to the sky, very rocky, with no trees, just several small bushes. 

Bilbo and Thorin collected firewood, and Rory built up a fire. They sat around the fire, and Thorin continued his tales of the Blue Mountain in his deep, entrancing voice. Bilbo watched the firelight throw Thorin’s impressive profile into relief and felt something clench around his heart. Rory was snuggled up next to Bilbo, clutching his arm at the scary bits. Bilbo put his arm around his young cousin comfortingly. 

Chill winds started to blow and it started growing colder. Bilbo began shivering. “I think it’s time to sleep. Do we have enough firewood to keep the fire going?” 

Rory got up, “I don’t think so. This part of the hill is bare. Maybe a couple more hours. Let’s hope the tents keep us warm.”

But they didn’t. About 3-4 hours later, Thorin was woken up by an anxious voice, “Thorin! Please, please wake up!” 

“Rory? What’s wrong?” Thorin asked blearily, foggily realising that Rory’s teeth were chattering. 

“It’s very c-c-c-cold the fire has gone out. Bilbo is ill!” 

Thorin sprang up, now fully awake, and went over to the Hobbits’ tent. It was quite a large tent, and Bilbo looked very small, lying shivering in his bedding over to one side. Thorin crawled into the tent, turned Bilbo to face them, and saw the bluish tinge to his lips. Rory crawled in after Thorin, looking very anxious. 

“Bring my bedding over here.” 

Rory put one bed on top of the other, then helped Thorin lift Bilbo and place him on it. With the other bed spread out next to it, there was enough space for a Dwarf and two Hobbits to fit. 

Thorin moved forward, frantic with fear, and pulled Bilbo into his arms, rubbing his hands and feet, and pressing his own warm hands to Bilbo’s face. Slowly Bilbo’s breathing quietened down and his lips lost their bluish tinge. 

“Rory, pull the blankets over all of us. We’ll have to share body heat. Put an arm around me.”

Rory did as he was told, and slowly drifted off to sleep, pressed close to the furnace of the Dwarf’s body. 

Thorin held Bilbo close, feeling him warm up. Mahal, that was a close call. He kicked himself for not checking on the Hobbits. He savagely cursed the irony of it. Holding Bilbo would have been such a pleasure under different circumstances. 

When Thorin woke up, it was dawn and the sun was warming the slopes. He looked down at Bilbo, still lying in his arms, breathing evenly. He looked well rested. Thorin almost bent forward to press a kiss to those lightly parted lips, but recollected himself and pulled back. Thorin was too principled to press unwanted attentions on anyone, let alone this extraordinary Hobbit. Before he could succumb to temptation, he quietly detached himself and came out. 

Rory looked up, “Thorin! You’re up! Let me make breakfast for you.” 

Rory was immensely useful, and quickly made omelettes while Thorin put the kettle on the fire and made tea. He had gathered more firewood in the morning, enough to cook breakfast and more. 

Soon Bilbo came out and looked around. He saw Thorin and blushed. 

Bilbo sat down next to Thorin and said shyly, “You saved my life. Thank you.” 

“And mine too.” Rory chimed in. 

Thorin shook his head. “I nearly didn’t. I should have checked up on you.” He shook his head angrily. 

Bilbo put a hand on Thorin’s arm. “Don’t say that. It was entirely my fault. I should have been better prepared. I don’t even have the excuse of inexperience. I accounted for the altitude, not the harsh winds.” 

Thorin smiled. “You couldn’t have known. And neither could I. Let’s just be grateful we averted disaster.” 

Rory got up. “I’ll see to the horses.” Bilbo got up as well and the two of them went over to feed and water the horses. 

By the time they were ready to go, the sun was shining merrily down, and yesterday’s shadows seemed far away. The road became a bit steeper, but they were well rested and fed, and the journey was as nothing. 

The road had now become just a thin dirt track and they had to change to single file. Bilbo took the lead this time, Rory behind him, and Thorin bringing up the rear.


	6. Thorin Oakenshield and the Music of the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin looked up, smiled and came over. “I need something of yours – a token.”**
> 
> **Bilbo reached for his neck, and carefully took off the gold chain he always wore around his neck. A single pink cowrie shell hung from it as a pendent. The shell was a relic of his mother Belladonna’s first trip out of the Shire, during which she had visited the sea.**
> 
> **“It’s my mother’s.” He handed it to Thorin. Thorin took it reverently, and placed the chain around his own neck.**
> 
> **He looked at Bilbo with his piercing eyes. “This ceremony, it’s critical to us. If the mountain is as blessed as I hope it is...”**
> 
> **Bilbo nodded swiftly. “I understand. I wish you success, Thorin Oakenshield.”**
> 
> **Thorin moved closer and whispered, “I cannot tell why. Your being here, it gives me hope. I’ve lived with burdens all my life, but you make me feel light. I feel this is an omen, a signal of good times to come.”**

Celeb Brill

Bilbo walked some way ahead of the others, warmed by the sunshine, and the presence of his friends behind him. Friend, he thought idly. Who would have thought that three meetings would be enough to make a friend of a Dwarf? 

The track sloped forward steeply. When he reached the top, he stopped. Ahead of him the ground had levelled out and a camp set up. He could see Dwarrows moving between the tents. At least one of those faces was familiar, surely? The huge white beard and hair were unmistakeable. 

Bilbo waved as he neared and called out, “Good morning, Master Balin!”

“Beau Baggins!” 

Balin walked up to him with a huge smile. “Have you come to visit us?” 

“In a way, but I didn’t really expect to see you! I didn’t come alone, you see.”

Balin looked behind him and exclaimed, “Thorin! Lost your way again? We expected you yesterday!”

Thorin handed his pony’s reins over to Rory and came over. “I took a detour, you old fusspot.” 

Bilbo chimed in, “I can attest to that, Balin. Thorin killed seven wolves at Brandywine bridge and saved dozens of people. He has wounds to prove it!” 

Balin immediately moved forward with concern. A few of the other Dwarrows drew closer as well. Dwalin and Fili were among the group that surrounded Thorin. Three other Dwarrows greeted Bilbo - Borin, Farin and Frar, from the Bywater meeting. 

Bilbo greeted them enthusiastically, especially Farin, and introduced them to Rory. Rory was naturally gregarious, and they were all soon chatting happily. 

Frar looked at Bilbo and asked, “Where in the world did you get that cloak, Beau? It’s Elven, isn’t it?”

“Rivendell, actually. It used to belong to my mother. And the clasp too.” And Bilbo’s hand caressed the clasp as he remembered warm, tender embraces of days long past, and a sweet, loving face. 

Bilbo saw an answering sympathy in Frar’s grey eyes. Frar quickly changed the subject. “The frieze is not from these parts either. I do a lot of shopping in the Shire and Bree, I know what they sell.” 

“It’s from Rohan. Do you like clothes?”

“Very much. I am a prospector only for short periods. The rest of the time I am a weaver and a tailor.” Frar inspected the stitching of Bilbo’s coat. “I think I recognise this style. One of the tailors at Michel Delving?” 

“Oh you’re good! Did you make that coat?” Bilbo gestured to Frar’s superfine coat. 

“Yes, and wove it too.” 

Before Bilbo could answer, someone tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Master Baggins.” He turned around to see Fili, with a young dark haired Dwarf. “This is my younger brother Kili. Kili, this is Beau Baggins.” 

Kili bowed, “Kili the Spare, at your service, Master Boggins.” 

“The Spare?”

“You know what they say about the heir and the spare? Fili’s the heir and I am the spare. Fili’s the best protected Dwarf in all of Ered Luin, because if anything happens to him, I’ll become Uncle Thorin’s heir.” 

Bilbo felt as if the world had somehow turned upside down. 

“Thorin’s heir?”

“Of course. Uncle Thorin never married or had children, so we are his heirs.”

Bilbo could have kicked himself. Too late he remembered Farin’s paean of praise for Thorin Oakenshield, the legendary hero of the Battle of Khazad-dum. Prince of Erebor, and King-in-exile of Durin’s Folk. He felt a little sick, remembering the way he had insulted Thorin at their first meeting. Thorin had forgiven him, but he couldn’t help feeling exceedingly foolish. He also felt a little resentful. Surely Thorin could have mentioned his being the King-in-exile of the Dwarrows, in all the time they had spent together? 

But Bilbo was soon distracted, as he introduced Rory and saw a speculative gleam in Kili’s eye. He wondered how long it would be before he had to rescue Rory from some madcap mischief. Fili looked like a steady enough lad, but Kili looked like a scamp.

They chatted together a while longer. Bilbo found out that Borin had been going stir-crazy waiting for Thorin to arrive. Borin was a miner through and through, who pretty much lived and breathed for the adrenalin rush of finding minerals in rock. Frar had a more equable temper, but he too seemed to be a bit impatient. He was the only one of the three who had a spouse. Farin was too self-effacing to give an opinion. He was an orphan, living alone. He liked travelling, and he liked being in a group. 

Soon Fili broke up their conversation saying that they needed to set up their tents. 

Soon the horses were watered and their tents spread out. Bilbo went in search of Balin, and found him with Thorin, Frar and Dwalin. Thorin had removed his armour and his heavy clothing, and was seated on a tree trunk, clad in just a black shirt and trousers. Did Thorin only have black shirts, he wondered? Dwalin stood behind him, kneading his shoulders and arms. For a second, Bilbo felt a pang of jealousy. He suddenly realised that Thorin had a whole life, a family, friends he knew nothing about. And he was a bit jealous of all of them.

Thorin smiled as Bilbo approached. “Are you settled in?” 

“Yes,” Bilbo smiled. “Your nephews helped us. They kindly informed me of your status, your Majesty.” 

Thorin looked bewildered. “No one calls me that, Bilbo. I have never been crowned King. It’s a courtesy title only.” 

Bilbo fixed Thorin with a steady gaze. “You might have told me before I made a fool of myself.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Thorin grinned smugly. Around them, the other Dwarrows looked at each other. 

Bilbo pulled a face at Thorin, who continued to grin, unabashed. “I didn’t mean to deceive you – it’s not something I think about. But we’ll have to continue this argument later. I’ll have to leave you for a bit – we are starting the stone sensing ceremony.” 

Bilbo nodded. It was a dwarven ceremony, so of course they did not invite outsiders. He knew that much about dwarven culture. 

But Thorin suddenly looked up at him, his eyes a sharp, glittering blue. “Would you like to join us for the ceremony?” 

Bilbo was bewildered. The Dwarrows around him were shocked. Balin drew in a sharp breath and said, “Thorin.” 

“Balin, I want Bilbo to attend. Without him we wouldn’t be here, on this mountain peak. And the rules can be bent for Dwarf-friends. I want him there, Balin. We are at a crossroads today. It’s important.” Thorin said stubbornly.

Balin looked down at Thorin for a bit, then said, “Can we discuss this?” 

Bilbo took refuge in formal diplomacy, “Thorin, I’m honoured and deeply touched by your offer. But I wouldn’t like to cause dissent between the two of you. I’ll leave you to discuss it.” 

Bilbo moved away to where Fili and Kili were chatting with Rory. He was puzzled at Thorin’s inviting him to the ceremony. True, if he hadn’t supported the Dwarrows, they wouldn’t be here, but it had been an easy enough thing to do, and had cost the Shire nothing. Granted, he had had to overcome some prejudices, but they could not have been deep-rooted, if one meeting with Dwarrows had been enough to change his mind. Balin was quite charismatic, but still. Bilbo could not imagine what he had done to deserve the title of Dwarf-friend. Something told him Thorin would not bestow such an appellation lightly. 

In the meantime, Fili and Kili were eager to learn the details of the bridge incident, and Bilbo was quite happy to relate the tale of the dead and dismembered wolves at the bridge, and the reactions of the Hobbits. When he told them how a little fauntling had climbed into Thorin’s lap at the inn and hung on to his braids, they both lost it. They clung to each other, helpless with laughter, Rory giggling as he watched them. 

“Beau!” 

Bilbo turned to where Balin was beckoning him. He went up quickly. 

“Well, we have decided including you in the ceremony won’t do any harm, so, would you join us?”

“Oh yes, if you don’t mind!” 

Balin sighed “Well, if Thorin wants something he generally gets it. But he’s right. We can trust you. Oh by the way, what you’re wearing won’t do. This ceremony is going to involve a lot of water, and you’d better wear something you don’t mind getting wet. Not those fancy fabrics.” 

“Give me 5 minutes – I’ll be back!” 

Thorin, Dwalin, Frar, Borin and a few other Dwarrows walked further up and around to the other side of the peak. Balin waited for Bilbo.

Bilbo went into the tent and quickly changed into the rougher woollen clothing he had brought along – comfortable breeches held up by braces, and a thick woollen shirt that wouldn’t cling even if he did get wet. 

“Bilbo? What in the world are you wearing? I’ve never seen you in such clothes! You look like Hamfast Gamgee!” 

Bilbo looked down at himself. “Of course I do - these are my gardening clothes.” 

“But where are you going?”

“I’m joining the others for a dwarven ceremony.” 

“Can I come along?” 

“Sorry Rory – they just about agreed to allow me. They don’t know you very well.” 

Rory nodded and grinned. “It’s all right. I was about to teach the princes how to play conkers. For money!” He rubbed his hands together like a stage villain.

Bilbo made a face at him and walked on. 

Balin and he rounded the boulders on the other side of the peak. A little further up was a bare rock face, like many they had seen on their way. On the other side, a little stream came down the mountain to settle in a little pool before flowing down the mountain again. 

Thorin had taken his shirt off. Bilbo stared, fascinated. Stripped to his trousers, Thorin looked like a painting of Aule. Broad shoulders, a deep chest tapering down into a slim waist, and powerful arms. Hobbits rarely had hair on their chests, and Bilbo had not known just how attractive chest hair could be till now, especially tapering down in a triangle into dark trousers. Bilbo pursed his lips and averted his gaze. This was unseemly of him. He needed to focus on the ceremony. 

Thorin looked up, smiled and came over. “I need something of yours – a token.” 

Bilbo reached for his neck, and carefully took off the gold chain he always wore around his neck. A single pink cowrie shell hung from it as a pendent. The shell was a relic of his mother Belladonna’s first trip out of the Shire, during which she had visited the sea. 

“It’s my mother’s.” He handed it to Thorin. Thorin took it reverently, and placed the chain around his own neck. 

He looked at Bilbo with his piercing eyes. “This ceremony, it’s critical to us. If the mountain is as blessed as I hope it is...”

Bilbo nodded swiftly. “I understand. I wish you success, Thorin Oakenshield.” 

Thorin moved closer and whispered, “I cannot tell why. Your being here, it gives me hope. I’ve lived with burdens all my life, but you make me feel light. I feel this is an omen, a signal of good times to come.” 

Bilbo placed a hand on Thorin’s bare arm. “With all my heart I hope all your wishes for your people come true.” 

Thorin nodded gratefully, his eyes betraying the depth of his hopes and fears. He squeezed Bilbo’s hand, and walked back to the rock. 

There was a fire set up and a huge pot of water boiling on it. Buckets full of water were next to it. As he was wondering what all this was about, Balin came up beside him. “Confused?” 

“A little, yes.” Bilbo chuckled. 

“The prince has the best stone sense in the Blue Mountains, perhaps in the world. All Dwarrows have it to some extent, but it doesn’t go very deep. In a trance, I can sense about a hundred feet. Prince Thorin can sense metals and minerals deep in the heart of the mountain, upto a mile. We have never, even in history, heard of anyone with such a strong stone sense. Stone senses are keener when the sensor and the rock he’s touching are completely soaked, so we, as his assistants, have the task of pouring water on him when the wind dries him, which means every 10 minutes or so. And the water can’t be cold, or it will break his trance, so we mix spring water with boiled water to get it slightly warm.” 

“The session can be long, so we keep him fed, and massage his muscles when he starts to stiffen up, else he’d fall, standing up for so long.” 

“Can’t he sit down on the ground?” 

“No, the songs from the earth would disturb his hearing. We have tried all the combinations, through the generations. This is the only way that works.” 

“Understood. We have our own rituals for Spring singing. I would like to invite you some time to witness it.” 

Balin bowed. “You are very generous. I would like that very much.”

Then everyone hushed as Thorin bent, picked up a bucket of water and poured it all over himself. He turned to the stone, laid his hands on it and started humming to himself softly. Bilbo couldn’t help but stare, transfixed, not only because the water threw every line and curve of Thorin’s body into relief, but also at the strange familiarity of the ceremony. Being a Hobbit, he was more familiar with ceremonies like this, earthy and practical, than the mannered rituals of Men, and the otherworldliness of Elves. 

Thorin stopped humming and seemed to be listening with his eyes closed. In a short while, Balin scooped up some of the hot water from the pot and poured it into a bucket, bringing its temperature up, then walked over and handed it to Dwalin, who tested the temperature, then carefully poured it over his Prince. 

In turn, each of them, including Bilbo, filled a bucket from the stream, warmed it up, and handed it to Dwalin. After some time, Dwalin and Balin switched places. The brothers checked on Thorin every now and then, massaging his legs, shoulders and arms when needed. Thorin barely noticed their hands on him. He kept his hands on the rock, sometimes still, sometimes swaying, sometimes quiet, sometimes murmuring quietly to himself. He was entirely in a trance. 

Two hours after he had started, Thorin sighed deeply and stepped away from the stone. Dwalin immediately caught him and lowered him to the ground. Thorin breathed deeply, then got up and leaned against the wall. 

He got his breath back, then reached out and pulled Dwalin into a hard hug. Bilbo saw tears in his eyes. Balin stepped forward as well, “Thorin?” 

Thorin nodded and pulled Balin in for a hug with his other arm. He murmured something in Balin’s ear. Thorin was still too exhausted to speak, so Balin turned and cried, “Mahal be praised!” and everyone around cheered wildly and hugged each other. A miner with a funny hat enthusiastically hugged Bilbo and Bilbo returned it, smiling. He had no idea why they were happy, but it was good that they were.

Thorin motioned to Frar, Borin and Farin to come over. He talked to them softly, obviously giving them instructions, but Bilbo was too far away to hear anything. Farin took notes. Thorin towelled off, pulled on his shirt, then came over to Bilbo and pulled him into a hug. “You’ve brought us good fortune, Bilbo Baggins.” 

Bilbo hugged him back, happy that they apparently had good news from the stone sensing, but with no idea what the good news actually was. 

Thorin sat down at a low table and filled out a few pages with diagrams. Finally he got up, walked over to where Bilbo was sitting on a low boulder, and sat down next to him. 

“I hope you weren’t bored,” Thorin said with a twinkle. 

“Watching your wet behind for two hours? No, not at all.” 

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Oh the horror! What will the respectable Bagginses say?”

Bilbo giggled, then grew serious. “Jokes aside, that was fascinating. What did you find, or is that secret?”

Thorin smiled, “It is secret, but not from you.” He took Bilbo’s chain off and handed it back to him reverentially. “Bilbo Baggins, you have brought me and my people the greatest luck we have seen since our exile. Mahal himself guided us to this mountain. There’s gold here, and silver and diamonds. Nowhere as plentiful as Erebor, of course, but good enough to sustain our people for a long while and move us from subsistence to prosperity.” 

Thorin smiled at Bilbo, “And there should be enough to properly recompense our allies.” 

Bilbo smiled back, “You are generous. But this mountain doesn’t belong to Hobbits. We don’t need recompense.” 

Thorin shook his head. “You don’t understand. Men and Elves, they respect us only when we are rich and powerful. You are the only race that has opened its arms to us without expectation of a return. You have no idea how much it means to us.” 

“Oh do I not? I have travelled to the cities of Elves and Men. Everywhere I go I’m treated as an interesting child. You are the only other race that treats us like adults.”

Thorin placed a hand on Bilbo’s. “You, Bilbo Baggins, are no child.”

Bilbo blushed, then changed the subject. “How long will the prospecting take?”

“A few days, maybe even weeks, but we’ll stay here as long as it takes.” 

“How do you feel it?”

“It’s hard to explain – it’s like listening to music inside the rock, except each sound stands for a different metal or mineral. Iron is like drums. I have heard plenty of drums in the Blue Mountains, iron is our primary metal, and we all work as blacksmiths to create iron goods for sale. There isn’t much money in pure iron, you know. Silver is the sound of burbling water, gold that of tinkling bells, and mithril… mithril sounds like an angelic voice singing.” 

“Mithril?” 

“True silver. Harder than diamonds, more supple than gold. The rarest metal in the world. It is not mined anymore since Khazad-dum was lost. I’ve heard it, once.”

“Did you hear mithril here?”

“No, and I don’t expect to. But even without mithril, this means a new era for us. I’m so very grateful to you, Bilbo. Without your support at the meeting, we would not be here.” 

Bilbo grinned. “You almost didn’t have it. But Balin is a persuasive Dwarf.” 

Thorin grinned. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

At a distance, Balin watched them cautiously, while Dwalin glared. 

“I don’t trust this Hobbit, Balin. I just don’t.” 

“Beau isn’t untrustworthy, Dwalin. Are you sure you’re not just jealous?” 

“Jealous? Of course I’m jealous! It has been the three of us together ever since I was in my tweens…” 

“And followed us around like a puppy.” 

“Well, there wasn’t ever anyone else worth following! I’ve seen Thorin’s lovers – none of them lasted over a week. And that was a very long time ago. He’s known this little Hobbit for two days and now they’re joined at the hip!” 

“It’s a bit strange, at this time.” Balin said thoughtfully.

“Are you even listening to me?” Dwalin growled. 

“No. Do you remember the last Dwarf Thorin took to bed?”

“Not particularly. It was what, 50, 60 years ago?” 

“Yes. And do you remember what Thorin told us, 50 years ago?”

“Stop nattering and come to the point.”

“Remember Thorin going on a drunken binge for a week?” 

“Mahal yes! We ran out of ale and Thorin finished off two casks of wine from the old king’s hidden cellar. We paid for it, but that was a week to remember. Or not. I still don’t remember much.” Dwalin scratched his bald pate. 

“But I do, because I was the one searching for you and carting you both off to bed every day. Thorin confessed to me one night that he had felt the Longing and it was killing him. He never spoke of it again, but also he never slept with anyone ever again.” 

“Hmmm… this is the first I’ve heard of it.” Dwalin said reproachfully. 

“I would not tell even you his secrets, not without good cause. You know that. How many secrets of his have you kept from me?” 

Dwalin looked as abashed as a broad, muscled 5-foot warrior could look. Then he looked up sharply, “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because, laddie, Beau Baggins is 50 years old.”

“You think he’s Thorin’s One!?”

“No, I’m merely considering the possibility.” 

“A Hobbit One? I’ve never heard of such a thing. But that changes things.” 

“In what way?” 

“If Baggins is Thorin’s One, I’ll have to protect him with my life.”


	7. Dwarrows at Work and Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin made a face, then said seriously, “Don’t work too hard. You are our guest here.”  
> **   
>  **“Hardly. I foisted myself on you.”**   
>  **“If you think anyone can foist anything on Durin’s Folk…”**   
>  **“I already did. And Rory too. You’re just a big bunny under all that legendary warrior persona. And even Dwalin does the persona better.”**
> 
>  
> 
> Ooooh Bilbo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter - sorry!

**Celeb Brill**

In the afternoon, Bilbo and Rory watched the miners do their digging, and helped take the rubble out in wheeled carts. Miner Borin was in his element, listening to the rock and directing the miners. Borin could sense upto 100 feet of rock, feel its density, and predict the best spots to dig for the straightest routes. Prospector Frar helped him, although his skill was more in hearing metals and minerals. Occasionally, Thorin stepped up to listen and guide them. Thorin was in the thick of everything – directing, picking up the mattock himself where the rock was too dense, occasionally listening to the rock. Without the trance-like state, his sensing didn’t go as far, but it was still good for a few hundred feet. 

All the Dwarrows pitched in with the digging. Even Fili and Kili, although they had a regrettable tendency to whisper and go off into giggles, especially when the imposing triumvirate of Thorin/Dwalin/Balin wasn’t around. 

Bilbo and Rory sweated more than they probably ever had. Bilbo had thankfully brought gardening gloves and hand ointment, else he would soon have got blisters from all the carts he trundled in and out. 

But after several trips, Bilbo felt a slight burn in one hand, stopped and took off his glove. Sure enough, despite all his care, a little blister had formed on one palm. Bilbo looked at it dolefully. 

“Are you hurt?”

Bilbo looked up to find the scribe Farin, who had been jotting down the number of carts of rubble removed from the cave. “It’s just a blister.” 

“Well, you’d better stop. Leave the gloves off. Let me get some ointment.” 

“It’s just a blister! I’ll just wrap it up.”

“No. It starts off as a blister and pretty soon your entire hand will be skinned. Leave the cart.”

Farin walked off. Soon another Dwarf took Bilbo’s place, gave him a sympathetic look and pushed the cart away. Rory soon arrived, with another cart. “Bilbo! Are you all right?”

“Just a blister. I haven’t been working with my hands enough. They’re softer than a baby’s bottom.” Bilbo said, irritated with himself. 

“Well, you’d better rest up. Or if you want to, you can help the cook. He’s starting to gather firewood.” 

“Good idea. I can get our supplies out, too. I’ll go check on what they have.” 

Cooking was very much Bilbo’s forte. He had experience in cooking for large groups of Hobbits, so this 30-strong group was hardly a challenge. The cook was Bombur, an enormous, good-natured Dwarf, who really knew what he was doing. He was one of the royal cooks at Ered Liun, and the only one who could make Balin’s favourite dishes, so he generally went with Balin for longer trips. Also, he liked these outings. It was a chance to make some extra money and bring home toys and gifts for his large brood. 

Bombur and Bilbo took to each other at once. Soon, from their combined supplies, they planned a menu and started their preparations. Bombur was extremely grateful for the lavish supplies Bilbo had brought – eggs, potatoes, onions, vegetables, herbs and spices, smoked, dried and salted meats, cheeses, dried fruits, nuts, pickles, casks of ale, wine and cider, and much more, in huge quantities, as much as two strong ponies could carry. 

“Master Baggins, you are a life saver. I had completely run out of cheese – those young villains made off with my last wheel. Mahal knows what they did with it.” 

“Call me Bilbo, please.” Bilbo grinned. “I assume you mean the princes.” 

“Who else?” Bombur said with a deep sigh. Bilbo chuckled. “So, shall we start?”

Bombur had set up a large rough table for the preparations, and they chatted together and chopped up vegetables. 

“Bilbo!” 

He turned around. It was Thorin, looking anxious. “Are you all right? Farin said you were hurt?” 

“I’m perfectly all right. It’s just a tiny blister. Farin made a fuss and pulled me off cart duty, so I came here.” 

Thorin looked as if he would speak, but Bilbo cut in again, “How’s your arm?” 

Thorin looked blank for a moment, then looked down. His arm was still bandaged, but nothing seemed amiss. 

“Isn’t it time to change it? You got it wet during the ceremony.” 

Without bothering to ask for permission, Bilbo untied the bandage and carefully took it off. He was amazed at the Dwarf’s speed of healing. The wound was almost healed, and scabs had already formed. Bilbo went over to Thorin’s tent, retrieved the bandages and ointments, and bound it up again. 

He tied off the last knot, then gave the arm a little pat. “There.” 

“My mother used to kiss it and make it better.” Thorin said hopefully. 

“I’m sure Bombur would do that for you – he already has children. He’s been telling me how naughty they are.” 

Thorin made a face, then said seriously, “Don’t work too hard. You are our guest here.”

“Hardly. I foisted myself on you.” 

“If you think anyone can foist anything on Durin’s Folk…” 

“I already did. And Rory too. You’re just a big bunny under all that legendary warrior persona. And even Dwalin does the persona better.” 

“He does not!” 

“Of course he does. You should try shaving your head and getting tattoos.”

Thorin looked down at Bilbo suspiciously. “Do you like tattoos?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Whew. I was beginning to think you had an eye for Dwalin and it would never do.” 

“And why not?”

“Cause there’s this little dwarrowdam he has his eye on back in Ered Luin… a real peach.” And Thorin looked away into the distance as if reminiscing. 

“Oh go away.” Bilbo said irritably. “You don’t have a lot of time before the sun sets.” 

Thorin grinned and walked off. 

Bilbo returned to the table, to find Bombur stifling giggles. “What?”

“I’ve never, ever, heard Thorin crack jokes! Bilbo Baggins, you’re a wonder!” And Bombur went off into peals of laughter, his enormous belly shaking. Bilbo threw a potato and caught him neatly on the nose. 

The Dwarrows had already cleverly set up two makeshift ovens and stoves in a sheltered alcove, with a sloping roof. Bombur and Bilbo cooked side by side, chatting and laughing. By the time the workers had finished and washed themselves at the stream, dinner was laid out on the same table. Everyone exclaimed at the spread laid out - soups, breads, cheese, salads, Balin’s favourite spiced beef, baked chicken, fried fish, casseroles, pies, and puddings for dessert, washed down with ale.

As the ale went around, someone started a round of singing. One of the miners, with a funny hat, sang a jaunty number about the Man in the moon. Another sang a song about a little buttercup, and Bilbo strongly suspected the buttercup wasn’t really a buttercup. Kili and Fili did a comic duet. 

Then they pulled Bilbo and Rory into the circle. The two Hobbits had sung duets too often to be shy. They sang a rollicking song about a giant who fell from an oak tree, using pots and pans as accompaniment, which had several of the Dwarrows getting up and dancing around the fire. They sang three songs before Bilbo collapsed with laughter and went back to his seat next to a laughing Thorin. 

Bilbo handed around his best Longbottom leaf tobacco, and saw approving looks all around as they inhaled the rich flavour. 

When the temperature started going down, Thorin threw his fur coat around Bilbo’s shoulders. Bilbo gratefully snuggled into its warmth and watched the fire. 

“Bilbo?” 

Bilbo turned around to face Thorin. 

“Do you mind if Fili and Kili share your tent? It’s large enough for all of you, and I won’t be worried about your getting cold.”

Bilbo nodded. He had a sudden wild wish that Thorin and he could share a tent. The memory of Thorin holding him still had the power to make him feel warm. But it would be improper, unless they started courting. But Bilbo wasn’t exactly sure what he felt for Thorin. Attraction, yes, and affection too. But was that enough? Courting was serious business, not to be entered into unless one was very sure. 

On the other hand, whether Bilbo would get any sleep with Fili and Kili around was another question. Luckily, the two were tired out from their day’s exertions, and slept like innocent babes. The tent was pitched half inside the cave, protected from the wind. Rory and Bilbo fell asleep, tired out and warmed by the heat coming from the two snoring furnaces between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Balin's spiced beef: It's a fandom thing - recipe here: http://lotrscrapbook.bookloaf.net/other/recipes.html
> 
> "One of the miners, with a funny hat, sang a jaunty number about the Man in the moon." - Bilbo doesn't remember his name, but you'll meet Bombur's brother again later in the story :)


	8. Bilbo Baggins and the King’s Magic: Lending a Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Without any warning, Thorin suddenly stumbled. In a flash, Bilbo leapt up and grabbed Thorin’s waist to steady him. But as soon as his hands touched Thorin’s bare skin, a deafening clangour exploded inside his head, and a sharp spike of pain pierced through his brain. Thorin let out a gasp and clapped his hands to his ears, shaking. Frar and Farin came up on either side of Bilbo and grabbed Thorin. Bilbo immediately released Thorin and stepped back. The noise stopped.**  
>  **Thorin was leaning against the wall, sweating. Unaware of what he was doing, Bilbo reached for him.**  
>  **Frar said softly, “I think you’d better not touch him.”**  
>  **Bilbo pulled his hand back, stepped back several paces, then turned and ran out, horrified. What had he done?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway point! 
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have left kudos and bookmarked - and thanks especially to Redone for commenting! <3

**Celeb Brill**

The next two days pretty much followed the same pattern except for a few changes. The stone sensing now started at dawn, much to Bilbo’s chagrin. He hated waking early. But on the other hand, he was taken off rubble duty and assigned to assisting Farin with note-taking and Bombur with the meals. 

The number of persons supporting the ceremony had dwindled. Most of the miners were busy with the digging of the already mapped routes, including Borin and Dwalin. The only ones left were Balin, Frar, Farin, Bombur and Bilbo. Bombur was at the pot of hot water, helping to fill the buckets, and the other three had the job of carrying the buckets over to Balin. 

Balin called Bilbo over, “I need to step out for a minute. Could you take my place?” 

“Sure.” Bilbo was determined to be as steady a support as Balin, no matter that he was much smaller. He would not let Thorin fall. 

Twenty minutes went by and Balin had still not returned. Bilbo took the bucket from Frar and gently poured the warm water over Thorin. 

He stood there for five minutes, listening to the soft deep rumble of Thorin’s voice. Thorin had been standing there for 4 hours now. This was the third stage, where Thorin listened for more details – anything that would aid the mining – natural caverns, deep water springs. He was mapping the mountain into his mind. 

Without any warning, Thorin suddenly stumbled. In a flash, Bilbo leapt up and grabbed Thorin’s waist to steady him. But as soon as his hands touched Thorin’s bare skin, a deafening clangour exploded inside his head, and a sharp spike of pain pierced through his brain. Thorin let out a gasp and clapped his hands to his ears, shaking. Frar and Farin came up on either side of Bilbo and grabbed Thorin. Bilbo immediately released Thorin and stepped back. The noise stopped. 

Thorin was leaning against the wall, sweating. Unaware of what he was doing, Bilbo reached for him. 

Frar said softly, “I think you’d better not touch him.”

Bilbo pulled his hand back, stepped back several paces, then turned and ran out, horrified. What had he done? 

In the distance he could hear Rory and the boys laughing. He needed to get away from them, from all of them.  
Without knowing where he went, his eyes blurry with tears, Bilbo walked up the ancient road, then climbed a little dirt track and went up the hill. A spring flowed down into a little hidden space where the water had worn away the rock. Bilbo sat down on a boulder and splashed his face with the clear, cool water. He picked up a pebble and morosely threw it into the stream to watch the water splash. 

He felt strange. His head still hurt, and a feeling of lassitude ran through him. His only concrete thought was that his idyllic little holiday was ruined. He had been having the time of his life. Dwarrows certainly were good companions once they accepted you. But was that acceptance over? What exactly had he done to their king? 

He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone and did not at all understand what had happened. Was it because he was an outsider? Was this why outsiders were not allowed into Dwarven ceremonies? Bilbo’s head teemed with questions, the most important being, was this the end of his friendship with Thorin Oakenshield? He did not want to know the answer to that question.

Also, what time was it? How long had he been sitting there? Was he hungry? 

“Bilbo.” A familiar shadow fell across the grass. 

Bilbo didn’t look up. “Thorin.”

“Shift up.” 

Bilbo moved over. He lifted a fallen branch and began to strip it of its leaves. 

“You’re a hard person to find when you don’t want to be found, Bilbo Baggins. Everyone is out there looking for you. Are you all right?” 

“You’re asking me? I’m not the one who nearly collapsed because a non-Dwarf touched me during a secret ceremony!”

“I didn’t collapse. I just had a brief flash of weakness.”

Bilbo very rudely blew a raspberry. He still wouldn’t look at Thorin. 

“Oh all right. I collapsed. But Bombur’s excellent tea picked me right up again. I’ve been searching for you for at least three quarter-bells.”

Bilbo shrugged. “I didn’t think anyone would be looking for me, except to maybe throw me down the mountain.”

“Why would you think that? It wasn’t your fault. And it has nothing to do with your being a non-Dwarf. Our literature is full of outsiders assisting in all kinds of ceremonies during emergencies. None of them have had this effect. Perhaps it’s just you and me. Tell me, did you feel anything when you touched me?” 

“I heard music. Loud music. And there was pain. Like a migraine.” 

“That was exactly what I felt. I was already listening to music, but it suddenly grew impossibly louder. So loud my ears hurt and my head felt like it would explode.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why? If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I was the one channelling the music of the rock.” 

“But it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t touched you.” 

“And if you hadn’t, I would have fallen on my majestic behind.”

Bilbo snorted and looked up to see Thorin look at him with such amusement and affection that his breath caught. “So what happens now? Should I leave?”

“Leave? Not on your life. Don’t you see what we have here? For some reason, your touch is magnifying my stone sense. It’s not a bad thing – it’s good. We just need to learn to control it.” 

“How can it be good? It hurt, Thorin. And it obviously hurt you a lot more than it hurt me!”

“Yes, I agree, but that was because I was unprepared. It’s like using your eyes, you know. If you’re in a dark room and the light comes on suddenly, it blinds you, and hurts. But that’s because you didn’t give yourself time to adjust. What happens if we are prepared for it, and take it slow?”

“What if we fail and end up getting hurt? It’s such a big risk! Is it worth it?

“Yes, I think it is. Think about it – together we may be able to stretch my stone sense further than it has gone, find riches now hidden to us, find easier ways to mine. This mountain is rich, and perhaps it doesn’t matter so much here, but we will be looking for resources in other places as well, where such a strength could mean the difference between success and failure.”

Bilbo looked unconvinced. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.” 

Thorin looked at Bilbo keenly, then shook his head sorrowfully, “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I should never have asked you to take the risk. How can I, when you gain nothing by it?” 

Bilbo snorted derisively. “Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t doing this for personal gain either.” 

“But it’s for my people.” Thorin insisted. 

Bilbo looked at Thorin gravely. “Where do you draw that line, Thorin? When you fought the wolves at Brandywine Bridge instead of safely running away, who did you do that for? If the Shire needed help, and you alone could help, would you demand a return?”

Thorin took Bilbo’s hand in his. “You are too clever for me, Bilbo Baggins. I will accept whatever you decide.” 

“I need to leave at the end of the week. I was travelling to Bree when I met you, and my errand there is still incomplete.” 

“Bree…Bree… oh that strange Dwarf. Are you sure you want to meet a stranger in a town like Bree?” 

“It’s safe enough. I promised Rose I’d at least meet the fellow, but my letters have come back unopened. I need to go. I’ve put it off far too long. But before I leave, we can try the stone sensing together. ” 

Thorin raised Bilbo’s hand to his lips and kissed it, causing Bilbo to turn vermilion. “Thank you. Once I’m through here, I’d like to visit you in Hobbiton before I return to Ered Luin. May I?” 

Bilbo felt like fanning himself. He felt hot, and the press of Thorin’s lips on his hand scorched like fire. But when he spoke, his voice was steady. “Yes, of course. Bag End is always open to you and your friends, Thorin. I would love to introduce Rose to you. She’s a darling girl. But you must promise to stay for a few days. I wish you’d bring some of the others along. Spring starts in a month and I promised to show Balin our Spring singing ceremonies.” 

“How can I refuse? I would love to meet your niece. And all your relatives, in fact.” 

Bilbo turned red again at the implied meaning of that wish, and didn’t reply. They sat in silence for a few minutes. 

“Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“Can I hug you?”

Bilbo turned and found himself in Thorin’s arms, being flattened against a massive chest. He gave a little sigh and wrapped his arms around Thorin. Why was it that being held by this Dwarf felt like coming home?

“Friends?” 

“Always.” 

“Ready for another try?” 

“All right.”

They walked back to the cave. The others had left, but Balin, Dwalin and Bombur were at the entrance. Balin looked worried, and Dwalin furious. Bombur gave them both a broad grin as they came up. 

Balin quickly came forward. “Bilbo! We thought you were lost. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It was a bit of a shock, that’s all. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Dwalin asked Thorin. “Are you going to try it? Together, as you said?”

“Yes, but don’t worry. We’ll be careful.” 

“We’ll come in with you. Bombur, guard the entrance. Don’t let the others in.” 

Thorin again drenched himself with water and placed his hands on the stone. After Thorin had gone into a trance, Bilbo closed his eyes, reached out, and placed the tips of his fingers softly on Thorin’s bare arm. The music started, slowly. It wasn’t as loud as before, and gradually, Thorin seemed to be getting control of it, as the notes separated out and Bilbo could recognise some of them from Thorin’s descriptions – the drums were there, like a steady heartbeat, along with other instruments he had never heard before. 

Deeper and deeper they went. It felt as if he was riding an invisible carriage through a valley of invisible singing Elves. He realised he was now holding onto Thorin with his entire hand, not just the fingertips. Someone splashed water on him. He realised he still had his shirt on. 

Deeper and deeper they went. The sound of a flowing stream. Silver? Was that a flute? Or a singing bird?

Deeper and deeper. He felt hands massaging his arms and legs. Water, again. 

The sounds kept changing, as Thorin moved his stone sense deeper into the rock.

Deeper and deeper. The tinkling of bells? Gold, of course. 

The sound of a kitten mewing. Deeper and deeper they went. 

Someone moved his other hand so he was holding Thorin’s arm with both hands. The sound deepened further. He felt, without knowing that Thorin was trying to move further into the depths of the mountain, and finding it harder at the huge distance. Without knowing how he did it, he poured his own strength into the link, his hands tightening on Thorin’s arm. 

And suddenly they were moving again. Feelings not his own poured into him - excitement, anticipation, gratitude, a deep affection - all of which he knew were coming from Thorin. He let more of his strength stream through the link into Thorin. 

And they were moving to greater depths than Thorin had ever been before. There were other instruments Bilbo could not identify. And in the midst of all the other sounds he heard it – a deep pure note, like an angel singing. 

And he felt it – emotions streaming into his brain from Thorin’s – incredulous disbelief and then a wild, passionate joy. 

The spell broke and Bilbo fell, spent, into Dwalin’s waiting arms. Thorin turned around. He looked triumphant, although exhausted and dripping wet. Balin came up with towels for both of them.

Thorin turned to Bilbo, his eyes shining, “Did you hear it?” 

Bilbo nodded. Thorin reached for Bilbo and hugged him hard, kissing him on the cheek. Bilbo grinned happily and put his arms around Thorin before releasing him. Thorin turned to hug Balin and Dwalin, then Bilbo again for good measure.

“Care to share with the class, laddie?”

“True silver, Balin. About 3,000 metres down – 1,000 metres below the mountain’s base. True silver! I’m not sure how much, but I heard it. The first ever find outside Khazad-dum! Mahal sent us to this mountain, I’m sure of it. Remember, not a word to anyone till we need to tell them!”

Balin and Dwalin nodded. Bilbo shook his head “I know nothing.”

Thorin grinned and turned back to Balin. “And I just finished mapping the mountain.”

“But Thorin, did you say 3,000 metres?” The normally unflappable Balin was incredulous. 

“Yes. Further than I have ever heard anyone “sense”. It’s unheard of! And the mountain is so accommodating! There are caverns and air pockets throughout that we can use. I need paper!” 

Bilbo ran to the alcove where Farin kept his paper, pens and ink. He pulled down the plank that served as table, and grabbed a wooden stool. 

Thorin settled down, but insisted on Bilbo staying close to him as he worked. The others left, and Bilbo sat with Thorin for moral support, and also provided more material support in tea and snacks. It was time for afternoon tea anyway, and no way was Bilbo going to miss that. He brought Thorin tea and crumpets, and Thorin just inhaled both without stopping to even check what he was putting in his mouth. 

Thorin worked as if he were possessed. Before the sun went down, he had covered several sheets of Farin’s precious paper with diagrams on both sides. 

Bilbo watched him as he worked, and felt a wave of tenderness. This was no hereditary king with a sense of privilege, this was a proud, hard-working leader with calluses on his hands and scars on his soul, determined to give his people a better life. 

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When they had all gathered for dinner that night, Thorin told the others what had happened, leaving out only the bit about the mithril. He told them Mahal had, in his infinite wisdom, decreed that a gentle, peaceful Hobbit should lend his strength to their cause. Bilbo had always known Thorin was charismatic, but the way he spoke was truly spell-binding. No wonder the Dwarrows were loyal. The way he told the story, Bilbo’s intrusion into their world seemed not only inevitable and designed by fate, but also the instrument of their future hopes. 

Bilbo wondered how they would react. Would they be angry, resentful? He suspected Dwalin was, already. But Thorin and Bilbo were just working together – it wasn’t as if they were courting!

He needn’t have bothered. Apparently the Dwarrows had decided that their King was definitely courting, and also that it was now open season on both of them, especially Bilbo. His first inkling of this came when Kili sang a love song. Fili joined in somewhere in the middle and turned it into a duet. Bilbo didn’t understand all the phrasing, but it couldn’t be good – Thorin had his head in his hands. 

It seemed like a conspiracy – the other Dwarrows sang as well. All love songs, some sweet, but the bulk raunchy. Even Bilbo could understand those lyrics! He blushed hard and pulled Thorin’s coat over his head. Rory was no help at all. He joined in with a very naughty song – where did he even learn that? Mirabella would have his hide if she heard that! He turned around. Thorin had disappeared. 

Bilbo got up. “You are awful – all of you”, turned up his nose and walked off with dignity to their tent. Gusts of laughter followed him. 

After a couple of hours, Rory, then Fili and Kili crawled into the tent, waking Bilbo up from a pleasant dream. 

“Master Boggins?”

“Yes, Kili?” Bilbo asked groggily from the other side of Fili. 

Kili sat up. “Is Uncle Thorin your One?”

“Kili! You can’t ask him that!” 

“Why not? I want to know! Uncle Thorin needs his One. He’s had the Longing for decades! Mother said so! I want him to be happy!” 

Bilbo couldn’t decide what to say. From the other side, Rory piped up, “What’s a One?”

“The other half of your soul. The One who will cleave to you for eternity. The one you start longing for when the time comes, and the longing only goes away when you meet them.” 

“Like a soulmate?”

“Yes, pretty much. Don’t Hobbits have Ones?”

“No.” said Bilbo. “I’ve read stories about soulmates, but they’re just fairy tales.”

“Oh. So Uncle Thorin is not your One?”

Bilbo thought for a while before he spoke. “No. We don’t have Ones.”

“But do you like him?” asked Fili. 

“Of course I like him. I wouldn’t spend so much time here if I didn’t. I like all of you, even you two rapscallions.” 

“But do you like him more than everyone else?” Kili persisted.

“Are you asking me if I love him? No, no I don’t think I do. I’ve never been in love, so I can’t tell. All I can say is, I do not want to lose his friendship.” 

There was silence as Kili and Fili absorbed that surprising statement. Bilbo had never been in love? Really?

Rory giggled and said, “Bilbo is a virgin.”

“Shut up, Rory!” Bilbo threw a pillow at him. 

Kili retrieved the pillow. “Is that true? Never?” 

Bilbo shrugged. “I never liked anyone well enough. It’s not that I didn’t have the opportunity.” He added haughtily. 

“That’s true,” said Rory. “He’s been the most eligible bachelor of the Shire for decades. Even before he came of age. But it’s not Bilbo they’re after – it’s Bag End!”

But Kili refused to be distracted from his main concern. “Do you think you could love Uncle Thorin, someday?” 

Bilbo thought for a while. “I don’t think I’ve ever admired, liked and respected one person so much in all my life. So yes, it’s possible.” 

Kili climbed over Fili to grab Bilbo in a bear hug. Fili laughed and threw himself on top of them, and Rory joined the group hug. They talked and laughed for another couple of bells before they fell asleep all tangled together like puppies. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Out in the tents, a miner mused on their ruler’s new companion. The little Hobbit was harmless enough. Pretty, too. But he had his orders. The next morning, he would send a raven to his other boss.


	9. The Perils of Beau Baggins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Durin sat down on the opposite chair and indicated the other two. “Master Baggins, I would like you to meet Master Balin and his brother Master Dwalin. Master Balin is the advisor to the King, and Master Dwalin is the Chief of Guard.”**
> 
> **Bilbo looked at the two Dwarrows, his mouth open. The sheer effrontery of the deception stunned him. Then he remembered these were Dwarrows of Bree. They probably had no idea that the real Balin and Dwalin were known to at least some Hobbits in the Shire.**

Bree, Bag End 

Bilbo and Rory stayed there for two more days. 

Thorin found a cave almost at the base of the mountain. A team of them went inside, and Thorin found a suitable spot to map out a couple of miles of strata below, this time with Bilbo’s arms deliciously wrapped around his bare middle. The veins below the mountain were far richer than the ones above. Durin’s Folk would not go hungry again. And then there was the mithril, which even Erebor did not have. Thorin sensed enough mithril there to buy a couple of cities. Getting to it would be hard and take a few years, but what were a few years to a Dwarf?

All too soon, the week was up, and Bilbo and Rory got ready to leave. Thorin pulled Bilbo into a warm hug at parting, and promised to visit him soon. Bilbo found parting from Thorin a greater wrench than he had imagined, but neither Dwarf nor Hobbit was too effusive in their partings. That was not their way. 

The princes’ parting with Rory was much noisier, with plenty of hugs and promises to “visit him just to beat him at conkers and get all their money back”. 

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Bilbo accompanied Rory to Brandybuck Hall, where he changed horses again, and found that a caravan was leaving for Bree that same day. He joined the caravan, and arrived at Bree two days later. He took a room at The Prancing Pony, the largest inn in town, and set out to find the address Rose had given him. This turned out to be another Inn, fairly close by. It looked as clean and well set up as the Prancing Pony, but was much smaller. He walked up to the counter and stood on tiptoe to peer over it. 

The Man at the counter asked, “Master Hobbit, may I help you?” 

“Do you have a Dwarf staying here?”

“Just one, a Master Durin. He’s out, but he should be back soon. Would you like to wait in the parlour?” 

Bilbo nodded and sat down in the parlour, next to the window. The Men served him tea with bread and honey, which he devoured, being very hungry, and then ordered more substantial fare.

After he had finished, he sat back in his chair, wondering if he should discreetly let out a notch in his belt. The inn may be small, but the cooking was excellent, and the long journey had given him an appetite. 

After a while, a Dwarf came into the parlour. Bilbo looked at him curiously. He was tall for a Dwarf, slim, with golden hair and beard neatly braided and tied together. A bit like Fili, but without his finely etched Durin features. He was dressed well, too, Bilbo thought with a critical eye, but more like a Man than a Dwarf. Probably got his clothes made in Bree. Handsome, but he looked more like a short Man than a Dwarf. Not a warrior, Bilbo thought. He didn’t move like one. 

He came over to Bilbo and asked, “William Baggins?”

“Yes.” 

“I’m Durin. At your service.” 

“And I, at yours. I had sent you two letters at this address, but they came back.”

“I’m really sorry. I was away at Tharbad for a month on business.” 

“Oh. Please, do sit down. What business is it you do?”

“Trading. I bring goods from the Blue Mountains, sell them in Bree and Tharbad, then return with other goods that I sell in the Blue Mountains.”

They chatted for an hour, Bilbo trying to find out with judicious questioning whether the Dwarf was genuine, whether he really had a business, and whether it was enough to support a wife. He certainly didn’t want his Rose to marry a fortune hunter. 

Durin spoke well, and with apparent sincerity. Some part of Bilbo wanted to believe him, but apart from a superficial charm, he couldn’t see anything that pointed to the Dwarf having any deeper virtues. His talk of business was rambling, and he didn’t seem to understand the goods he bought and sold. He did confess he was something of a sleeping partner, but if that was the case, why was he living in an inn, and why did he go to Tharbad for a month on business? 

The whole shtick was smoothly done, but did not inspire confidence. Bilbo was no easy “mark”. He was a savvy diplomat, a widely read, widely travelled Hobbit, with friends among Men, Elves and now Dwarrows. He wasn’t easily taken in by a pretty face. He would have to investigate this Dwarf further before he even discussed this with Rose’s other guardians. Did Durin have someone to vouch for him? 

Bilbo nodded. “Let me speak plain, Master Durin. I know nothing about you, your family, your trade. Can someone reputable vouch for you? Rose said you were related to the royal family?”

“Yes, but the King is not very accessible. Would Lord Balin, the King’s advisor do? He is also a cousin of mine.”

“Oh, certainly,” Well, that was a relief. If Balin vouched for Durin, he could be easy in his mind. “I’m returning to Bag End tomorrow. Perhaps you could send me a letter and let me know when we can meet?” 

Durin agreed, flashing a charming smile. Bilbo left, still feeling a bit dissatisfied. 

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^

Across the road, a hooded Man sat under a tree, watching the Inn. When Bilbo came out, he started following Bilbo. 

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Bilbo went back to his Inn. A quick conversation with the ostler elicited the information that there was a caravan returning along the Great East Road two days later. Bilbo would be on it. 

On the third morning, Bilbo and his pony joined the caravan, paying the caravan leader for the privilege. There was the usual mix of Dwarrows, Hobbits and Men, and the caravan guards, among whom was a Ranger that he was acquainted with.

“Master Hunter! Am I glad you’re on this trip!” 

The Ranger looked down from his height. “If it isn’t Beau Baggins! What are you doing around these parts?” 

“Family business, alas.” 

The Ranger helped Bilbo mount his pony. 

“Tell me, why does this caravan need two Rangers? Are we expecting trouble?”

Hunter moved closer to Bilbo and spoke softly. “There’s something brewing in the north-east. We’ve heard the omens. The Rangers in the north are investigating. Hopefully we’ll hear from them soon.” 

“Do you think the Shire is in danger?”

“Well, it’s too early to say. They have tried once, and they might again.” 

“But that was 200 years ago!”

“True. And after that rout, Eriador hasn’t seen any orc attacks. Wolves, yes, orcs, no. They’ve stayed close to the Misty Mountains. But there’s talk of new Orcs that have been seen in Angmar.” 

Bilbo felt a stab of fear. He remembered the Fell Winter and the attack of the wolves all too clearly. 

“Beau, if there is such an attack, the Rangers will defend the Shire to the last Man.” 

Bilbo smiled. “I know. And if we have some warning, perhaps the Shire can prepare its own defences.” 

The Ranger only smiled. The idea of the peaceful Hobbits arming themselves to the teeth was amusing. Ranger Hunter was, of course, too young to remember Bullroarer Took. 

Bilbo felt a little uneasy. For some reason, he felt he was being watched, but couldn’t spot anyone watching him. He was glad when they finally arrived at Brandywine Bridge and entered the Shire. 

He stayed at Budgeford that night, and returned to Bag End the next day. 

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A couple of weeks later, if any curious Hobbits went through the smallish wood this side of Bywater, they would have seen a sly-looking Frogmorton Hobbit chatting with a Dwarf. The Hobbit, a slightly greasy looking creature with not too clean clothes and huge balding spots on his feet, was saying, “So you just want me to keep an eye on this Hobbit and report to you?”

The Dwarf said, “Yes. I will be staying in Bywater for another month, but I have a lot of things to do. I just need you to tell me two things: One, if he’s at home, who visits him. Two, if he goes out, where he goes and who he meets. Can you do that?” 

“Yes.” 

Thus it was that when some strange Dwarrows and Men visited Bilbo Baggins, Till Hogfoot, aka Barefoot, watched them from the garden through the side window. 

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Rose was all in a twitter. Durin was coming home. Tall, handsome, golden-haired, blue-eyed Durin. She hadn’t seen him for days, and Uncle Bill had forbidden her to write to him. But Uncle Bill had been kind enough to travel all the way to Bree to meet him, and now he was coming. She dressed carefully in a pretty new ensemble in Spring colours – a skirt in pink silk, an overdress in green and a lacy blouse. 

There was a knock on the door. Bilbo opened it to see the Dwarf he had met in Bree, along with two other Dwarrows and three Men. The others didn’t introduce themselves, which he found a bit strange. They were burly Dwarrows, although not as big as Thorin or Dwalin, and dressed expensively and formally. 

He invited them in. The Dwarrows swaggered in, but the Men had to bend down to pass through the door.

Rose ran up immediately. “Durin!” 

Durin went up to Rose and took her hands in his. “I have missed you!” 

Bilbo cleared his throat warningly. Rose pulled back, and sat down next to Bilbo. 

The Men crossed the room and sat together on the long settee, looking uncomfortable. 

Durin sat down on the opposite chair and indicated the other two. “Master Baggins, I would like you to meet Master Balin and his brother Master Dwalin. Master Balin is the advisor to the King, and Master Dwalin is the Chief of Guard.” 

Bilbo looked at the two Dwarrows, his mouth open. The sheer effrontery of the deception stunned him. Then he remembered these were Dwarrows of Bree. They probably had no idea that the real Balin and Dwalin were known to at least some Hobbits in the Shire. 

“Err… no. I’m afraid I’ve met both of them, and these are strangers. What are you playing at? And by the way, is Durin your real name?”

“Uncle Bill!” Rose cried. 

Bilbo looked back at her sternly, “I’m not making this up, Rose. The Longbeard Dwarrows are Durin’s Folk, but no Dwarf has been named Durin for 900 years. I don’t know what his real name is.”

The Dwarrows looked gob-smacked.

Bilbo turned to Durin. “I’m not going to ask for your name. I don’t need to know you any further. Please leave and never come back.” Rose gasped behind him and slipped her hand into his. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were brimming with tears and shock, but her trust in the uncle who had brought her up as a parent was intact. 

The Dwarrows looked at each other. Bilbo didn’t trust their looks. The sooner they were out of the house, the better. 

Till Hogfoot, watching from the garden, saw the Dwarrows walk to the door. He watched in shock as one of them turned suddenly and struck Baggins, who went down. The other two grabbed the Hobbit girl before she could scream. Very quickly, both were trussed up on the ground. Till saw blood on the Hobbit’s neck and shoulders.


	10. Racing to the rescue, but will they arrive in time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“You never said anything about kidnapping!” the younger Dwarf yelled.**   
>  **“Shut up! You’re the one who botched this. Now let me fix it.”**   
>  **“You’re the one who botched it! You told me Hobbits knew nothing about us. This one’s a walking library on Dwarrows!”**   
>  **“All right. I was wrong about that. But now we don’t have a choice. Are you with us? Help us get the ransom, and your debts are cleared. Or leave us now and take your chance with debtor’s prison.”**   
>  **The younger Dwarf seemed to shake himself. “I’m with you,” he said in a low voice.**   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS - Minor character death. Other small references that could potentially be triggering: gore, molestation, rape threats, some violence. Nothing graphic.

Till Hogfoot stealthily moved closer to the window and peeked in. He could hear sobbing. The Hobbit girl was evidently crying into a gag. 

“Did you have to do that?” said the young Dwarf, looking very shaken. 

The older Dwarf, the one who had just struck Baggins, grinned back smugly. “Someone will pay through their nose to get them back. They’re rich!” said. 

“You never said anything about kidnapping!” the younger Dwarf yelled. 

“Shut up! You’re the one who botched this. Now let me fix it.”

“You’re the one who botched it! You told me Hobbits knew nothing about us. This one’s a walking library on Dwarrows!” 

“All right. I was wrong about that. But now we don’t have a choice. Are you with us? Help us get the ransom, and your debts are cleared. Or leave us now and take your chance with debtor’s prison.” 

The younger Dwarf seemed to shake himself. “I’m with you,” he said in a low voice. 

The Hobbit lass’s sobs stopped abruptly in a hiccup. 

“We wait till it’s dark, then take them to the Bog. Tomorrow we send a ransom note to those cousins of theirs in Budgeford.” 

Till Hogfoot didn’t wait to hear any more. He was neither a brave Hobbit nor a good one. He didn’t dream of storming Bag End for a rescue. He was getting paid for information, and this was information he would definitely get paid a lot for. 

Till ran to Bywater. He looked around and soon spotted the Dwarf he was looking for. He whistled the signal. The Dwarf saw him and came over. 

“What’s happened?”

Till quickly told him what had happened and saw the Dwarf go tense. “Three Men, you say?”

“Yes, big ones. And the Dwarrows were big too.”

“The Shirrifs won’t do. If we could get a Ranger, but they come and go as they please.” 

“Such things don’t happen in the Shire!”

“They’re from Bree.” The Dwarf seemed to make up his mind. “All right. This is what you need to do. Run back to Bag End. Follow them to this bog they mentioned. Rushock Bog is the only one around here. But leave these tokens on the side of the road so we can follow you. Try to stay on their tail. You’ll be well rewarded. But don’t let them spot you!” The Dwarf handed over a whole bag of small triangular wooden pieces to the Hobbit.

Till nodded and ran. Stealth was a Hobbit specialty after all. The kidnappers would never spot him.

The Dwarf whistled and two ravens flew down to perch on his shoulders. He wrote two notes and sent them off with the ravens. “Remember, give the note to Thorin Oakenshield!” he reminded them thrice. He whistled again, and more ravens landed on his outstretched arms. He sent four of them off to patrol Rushock Bog. 

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Back in Bag End, Rose cautiously tested her bonds. She had to get free! Uncle Bill was hurt, and she shivered with dread at the thought that something might happen to him. Rose did not remember her parents. All her memories of childhood were of Uncle Bill – walking her to school, teaching her to ride, telling her stories, feeding her, tucking her in at night. Uncle Bill had been mother and father to her for as long as she could remember. If her own stupidity took his life, she would not be able to live with herself. 

She turned her head to look at him. There was a long cut along the side of his head, and it was bleeding heavily, as head injuries are prone to do. Blood was trickling down his neck and shoulders to soak his shirt. They hadn’t even tied up the wound. 

She struggled to try and get rid of the gag, and hissed as her ankle hit the leg of a chair. 

“Stop that infernal wiggling!,” the leader of the kidnappers said. 

The fake Durin walked over, knelt beside her and said, “If you promise not to scream, I’ll remove the gag. Nod if you understand me.” 

She nodded, and he removed the gag. Rose gasped for air and then said softly and with great restraint, “Please, he’ll bleed to death.”

Durin turned to look at Uncle Bill, lying still on the floor. His head wound was still bleeding. “Do you have any bandages?” 

Rose's heart lifted in hope. Durin apparently wasn't as heartless as the others. “In the pantry. And there’s basilicum powder.” 

He replaced the gag, then got up and went into the pantry. Within a short while, he came back and started bandaging up Uncle Bill’s head after dusting the wound liberally with basilicum powder. 

The leader glared at him, “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t know about you, but I didn’t sign up for murder.” Durin growled.

“Don’t be a fool. We only need one of them. If he dies, they’ll pay enough to get the girl back unharmed.” 

Rose’s heart stopped in terror. 

“And where do you think we’ll go with all that money? Even Bree will not protect murderers.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” the leader said in a voice that clearly indicated he was merely humouring the younger Dwarf. “Well, all right. Bandage him up if you like. I don’t care.” 

Durin bent to his task again and completed it. He came over to Rose and knelt down. “He’ll be ok. Are you all right?” 

Rose shook her head and turned away. Durin waited for a moment, then walked back to the others. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Soon night fell, and Bagshot Row was completely silent. The kidnappers left Bag End silently, the Men carrying the Hobbits. 

Hogfoot silently followed them at a distance. 

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Balin looked up as a raven flew through the window and landed on the heavy wooden table in the parlour. “Oakenshield!” it screamed raucously. 

Thorin, who was going through some papers at the table, looked up. He come over to the raven, and pulled off the note. As he read it, he stumbled, reached for a chair and sat down, his face going white. Balin came over quickly. “What is it?” 

Thorin handed over the note, “It’s from Nori. He’s in Bywater.” 

Balin read it. It said very simply that Baggins and a girl Hobbit had been kidnapped by three Dwarrows and three Men, and Nori was waiting for them at Bywater to start the pursuit.

Balin put his hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “Don’t panic. We’ll find them. A good thing we haven’t unpacked. Get ready. I’ll get the others.” 

They left their luggage in charge of the landlord, who, after the bridge incident, seemed to have completely changed his mind on Dwarrows. Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Kili, Fili, Bombur and his brother Bofur, a miner, set off at a fast pace. 

They arrived at Bywater late the next morning. Nori was waiting for them at the inn. Thorin walked over to Nori, grabbed his collar and growled, “I should throw you into the dungeons for spying on him.” 

Nori wasn’t the least bit fazed. “Just a precaution, M’lord. And you can’t deny it’s come in handy.” 

Thorin didn’t look mollified, but he released Nori. “Where are they?” 

“Rushock Bog. My ravens are patrolling, so we know they are still there, but I’ve walked through the bog twice and I can’t find them.” 

“Let’s go.” 

“Uncle! Can we grab some breakfast? I’m hungry and we’ve been walking all night!” 

“All right, but make it quick.” 

After a quick meal, they set off again. 

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Rushock Bog was a few miles beyond Hobbiton, an unprepossessing, dark place. However, the safe paths were marked and visible. Nori led the way, and Till Hogfoot trailed behind the Dwarrows. 

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A little distance away, tucked away into the wild, thick foliage around a great tree, was a cottage, painted over in dark green camouflage. Impossible to see from the outside, and nearly impossible to get to, unless one either hacked down all the foliage, or found the only gap, which was not easily visible. Inside the cottage, the six kidnappers were hunkered down, waiting. Rose was tied up and lying on a little sofa, and Bilbo was lying on top of a table, also trussed up. Rose had stayed awake all night, but now was asleep. 

Bilbo was exhausted from hunger and blood loss but awake. The kidnappers had eaten, but they hadn’t fed their captives. Bilbo’s mind was churning, trying to find a way to escape. He knew his wound had been bandaged up, and wasn’t bleeding any more. He would have to wait till after dark. If the kidnappers fell asleep, and he managed to roll off the table without waking them, perhaps he could get near a knife and cut his ropes… He closed his eyes and prayed to Yavanna under his breath. Suddenly, Thorin’s image rose within his mind’s eye, and a bitter-sweet longing rushed through him. What wouldn’t he give to have Thorin here, with him, right now? 

The door opened and one of the Dwarrows came in. “There’s a strange Dwarf outside – searching through the bog. It’s not safe to go out right now.” 

“Someone looking for us, do you think?” the fake Durin asked. 

“Unlikely.” The leader of the group replied. “But we’ll wait a bit, just to be safe.” 

After a while, the leader got bored, strolled up to the table and looked down at Bilbo. He said casually, “Hobbits are soft. This one went down like a stone.” 

“Only in comparison with Dwarrows. Dwarrows have thick heads.” One of the Men laughed. The Men were all sitting on the floor. The ceiling wasn’t tall enough for them to stand, and all the furniture was Hobbit-sized. 

“But Hobbits are soft, anyway. And so pretty. This one’s prettier than the lass.” 

The Dwarf caressed Bilbo’s arm. “See? So soft.” 

The others looked on with morbid fascination. The false Durin looked uncomfortable and disgusted. “Oh leave him alone. We only need the ransom.” 

“Speak for yourself. We’ll get the ransom anyway. No one will know or care if I tap this delicious little….” And his hand caressed Bilbo’s behind. 

Bilbo's mouth was gagged, but his mind screamed with fear and rage. 

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In the bog outside, 500 feet away, Thorin suddenly jerked as if he’d been slapped. “This way!” 

It was Thorin who led them to the spot, but it was Nori who found the gap in the thicket, even as Thorin swore to himself under his breath, hands clenching and unclenching on his sword hilt. The entire party slipped inside quietly. A few more gaps to squeeze through and they were standing in front of a cottage. The door wasn’t locked, but Nori carefully oiled the hinges before opening it so that it wouldn’t squeak. The door opened to a small passageway. There was just one door leading from the passageway into the house. 

Thorin entered the passageway, slammed open the other door and charged inside, followed closely by the others. 

What he saw took his anger to red hot levels. Bilbo was lying, bloodied and tied up on a table, while a Dwarf ran his hands over him obscenely. 

Thorin didn’t stop to think. He didn’t even use his sword. He merely charged ahead, picked up the Dwarf with one arm, and threw him bodily against the wall. 

It was all over within minutes. The Men put up a fight, but they were low-level thugs and unused to dealing with trained fighters carrying wicked-looking swords. 

Thorin removed Bilbo’s gag, cut his bonds, and picked him up gently in his arms, the tears flowing freely now. “Bilbo, it’s all right. You’ll be all right. I’m here now. We’re all here.” 

Bilbo whispered tiredly, “Thorin.” At the knowledge that he was safe, his tenuous grasp on consciousness slipped and he fainted. 

Fili untied Rose. She woke up, looked at Fili and screamed. Bofur, the miner with the funny hat, quickly knelt down next to her and said, “It’s all right, lass. You’re safe now.” 

Rose stared at him, “Safe?” 

“Yes, we’ve come to take you back home.”

“Uncle Bill?” 

“He’ll be all right. He’s wounded, but he’ll recover. Can you get up, lassie?” 

Rose got up shakily, holding on to Bofur’s arm. “Who are you?” 

“My name’s Bofur. We are all Dwarrows from Ered Luin, and that’s our leader, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin Oakenshield, the new friend Uncle Bill had told her about? Rose looked up to see her uncle being gently lifted by a huge Dwarf. They really were safe. 

She turned to look around the room. One Dwarf was lying motionless against the wall. The other two were standing, their hands tied behind their backs. One of them was Durin, her betrayer. He had a black eye and blood dripped down the left side of his face. 

Rose straightened herself and walked stiffly over to the fake Durin. “You, you used me!” 

“I really cared for you – you must believe that, Rose!” 

“You liar!” 

Bofur put an arm around her shoulder, and led her away. “Come on, lass. Let’s go. He’ll get his punishment.” 

Rose gave the fake Durin another blistering look, but allowed herself to be led away. 

Nori checked the Dwarf who was lying on the floor. He looked up. “He’s dead, M’Lord. His neck’s broken.” 

Thorin’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to kill him. But he deserved to die.” 

And looking at Bilbo’s blood-soaked body, Nori had to agree.


	11. Just Desserts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin lifted Bilbo’s hands and lingeringly kissed them one by one.**   
>  **“Thorin? I’m not…I can’t…” Bilbo couldn’t frame his words. He wanted to say “I like you very much, I adore you, I’ll miss you very much if you leave me, but I don’t love you.” But even to his own mind that sounded crazy.**   
> 

**Hobbiton and Tuckborough**

Bilbo opened his eyes to find a sweet-faced elderly Hobbit lady looking at him. “Auntie Linda?” he asked groggily. 

His father’s sister and his favourite aunt Linda Baggins Proudfoot smiled at him and reached out to feel his forehead. “Good, you’re awake, and the fever’s gone. Hungry?”

Bilbo tried to sit up, but fell back onto the pillow. “Famished. What time is it?” 

“Ten in the morning. You’ve been asleep for a whole day and two nights. How are you feeling?” 

“On top of the world.” 

Aunt Linda laughed. She helped him to sit up, and fluffed up his pillows.

“But Aunt, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you.” 

“Liar. You’re never happy to have any of us take over your household. It was your neighbour Hobson Gamgee. He turned up at my smial two nights ago raving that hundreds of Dwarrows were staying here, and Rose didn’t have a chaperone. Although I suspect you need a chaperone more than Rose does.” 

“What?” Bilbo held his head. It was still a little fuzzy. 

Aunt Linda giggled. 

“Dwarrows, Aunt?”

“Oh yes. Lots of them. There’s Fili and Kili, the young rascals, and I think the dignified gentle-Dwarf is Balin, and the big one with the tattoos is his brother. Oh and your kitchen has been taken over by Bombur. His brother… I’ve forgotten his name, is trying to cheer Rose up. And there was a Dwarf with funny hair the first night, but I haven’t seen him since.” 

Bilbo stared at his aunt. “I thought I saw Thorin?” 

“Is that the tall one who looks like an oil painting of Aule? That’s your special friend, is he? He’s outside wearing a hole in the carpet. Handsome lad, but he does have a temper!” 

Bilbo smiled and shook his head ruefully. “Is everyone all right?” 

“Other than you, yes. Mostly. Rose has been crying non-stop. And your tall friend has been growling at everyone like a caged bear, but the others are fine. Good appetites too, I must say. Oh that reminds me – we need more groceries. Are you feeling well enough to see Rose? The poor girl will fall sick if she keeps crying like that.”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, please, Aunt. My poor darling – she must be so upset.” 

Rose came in like a whirlwind and threw herself on Bilbo’s chest, crying. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Bill. So very sorry! It’s all my fault!” She bawled. 

Bilbo held her and soothed her till her crying subsided into hiccups. “It’s not your fault, Rose. You could not have known. It’s the fault of those evil Dwarrows and Men. And look, we’re all right. We’ll be fine.” 

Rose shook her head and continued to hiccup. 

“Get up here.” 

Rose climbed up on the bed and tucked herself into Bilbo’s side as if she were still a fauntling. Bilbo put an arm around her and kissed her on the forehead. “My poor child. You must be tired out.”

Rose nodded and suddenly yawned prodigiously. 

“Go to sleep, Rosy-Posy. I’ll be right here next to you.” 

Rose smiled at the childish nickname, yawned again, threw an arm around Bilbo’s middle and fell asleep. 

Bilbo smiled down at his sweet angel, grateful they were both safe and amused by her childlike reaction. She was still betwixt child and adult. There would be no courting for Rose until she was a legal adult. And anyone that wanted to court Rose would have to be vetted and approved by a committee of Hobbits, Dwarrows, Elves and Men. The image made him smile. 

There was a knock on the door and Thorin put his head in. 

“Thorin!” Bilbo held out an arm and Thorin quickly drew Bilbo into a gentle embrace. “You’re all right,” he whispered, “I was so afraid.” 

“You saved me. How?” Bilbo asked. 

Thorin pulled up a chair and sat down next to Bilbo, still holding his hands in his own. “It was Nori, my spymaster. Some idiot on Celeb Brill sent him raven mail about you. I would have had his hide for spying on you but he did save your life.” 

Bilbo giggled, “Spying on me?”

“Well, they apparently wanted to ensure their leader isn’t being harmfully influenced.” Thorin growled. 

Bilbo snorted, “If we’re to talk about influencing…”

Thorin grinned at him. Then he looked down at Rose. “The little one is finally asleep. Poor child, she’s been crying for two days. Fili and Kili tried to cheer her up, but she threw a plate at them. Bofur had better luck. He did get her to eat a little.”

Bilbo sighed. “She’s blaming herself, poor lass. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve brought her up right. I’ve been both mother and father to her since she was two, you know. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so young when my brother…” 

“You’ve brought her up beautifully. She’s had a bad shock. She’ll be fine when it wears off. In the meantime she has a great-aunt and several uncles spoiling her. A few plates here or there are a small price to pay.”

Bilbo looked up. “Which plate was it?” 

“A green one, with two huge birds on it?”

“Oh that’s all right, then. That was Aunt Camellia’s present. Ugly thing.” 

“Who, your aunt?” 

“I meant the plate, but come to think of it…” Bilbo suddenly glared at Thorin. “You’re doing it again with your stupid jokes.” 

Thorin looked at Bilbo with definite puppy eyes, “I thought you liked my jokes?” 

“Oh stop that. I love your jokes. But then I happen to love stupid jokes. It’s an affliction.” 

Thorin lifted Bilbo’s hands and lingeringly kissed them one by one. 

“Thorin? I’m not…I can’t…” Bilbo couldn’t frame his words. He wanted to say “I like you very much, I adore you, I’ll miss you very much if you leave me, but I don’t love you.” But even to his own mind that sounded crazy. 

Thorin placed Bilbo’s hands carefully on the coverlet. “I’ll get you some breakfast. Your aunt will chase me out if I stay in your room too long.” 

He quickly turned and left before seeing Bilbo’s blush. 

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Two weeks later, a trial was held in Tuckborough, presided over by Thain Fortinbras II, one of Bilbo’s dearest friends. Bilbo and Rose both attended it and gave evidence. From the steadiness with which Rose spoke, no one could have guessed how many times she had rehearsed the trial in her head, and the tears it had cost her. During the trial, however, she refused to look at “Durin”, whose real name turned out to be Magor. He wasn’t even a Longbeard, he was a Broadbeam, and certainly not related to any royal families. 

It was an open and shut case. Testimony from three Hobbits and eight Dwarrows, plus the evidence found at Bag End and Rushock, and records of past convictions from Bree were enough to clinch the case. If there were any hardened doubters left, the sight of a gaunt Bilbo, with a huge bandage around his head, would have convinced them. 

In his testimony, though, Bilbo put in a kind word for Magor, who had probably saved his life by bandaging his wound. Very reluctantly, Rose bore evidence as well that Magor had been against the kidnapping scheme from the start, and had helped save Bilbo’s life. She could not, would not forgive him, but she could not be unjust. 

After hearing the testimony, Fortinbras pronounced the sentence – 15 years imprisonment for Magor and the Men, 30 for the other Dwarrow, who was more closely implicated in their dead leader’s plans. 

There was a slight hitch, though. There were no jails in the Shire for long-term prisoners, and Bree wasn’t prepared to take their citizens back. 

Thorin stepped forward and offered to gaol them for free, in the dungeons of Ered Luin. He would be much happier knowing his own people were keeping an eye on them. 

 

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By the time the trial got over, Bilbo was too exhausted to travel, so the whole group spent the night at Great Smials, which was almost empty, except for Fortinbras. Most of his cousins were at their own homes, getting ready for the spring festival. Bilbo didn’t feel up to facing his noisy Took cousins just yet. 

Thorin woke up at dawn, a little disoriented at the strangeness of Great Smials. Tunnels ran every which way and there were far more rooms than even Bag End. After a leisurely bath, Thorin went in for breakfast. The Thain was the only one up, apparently. He got up and bowed, “Your Majesty.” 

Thorin shook his head, “Just Thorin, please. “King” is a courtesy title. I’ve never been crowned.” 

“I hope you will be, someday. And please, call me Fortinbras. Everyone does.” Fortinbras was a middle-aged hobbit, a little over 60 years old. He had been a hellion in his youth, but now was a strong, spirited leader, who was known to be scrupulously fair in all his dealings. Bilbo, a decade younger, had been somewhat of a protégé. But Bilbo had grown to be a far more sophisticated Hobbit than he, and Fortinbras openly confessed that he often trusted Bilbo’s judgement more than his own. 

Thorin shrugged. “If I can build a good life for my people, I’ll be king enough.” 

Fortinbras helped Thorin with breakfast, then sat down and looked at him. “So, I feel I should ask you about Bilbo. As an older relative, you know.” 

Thorin raised an eyebrow, “Is this the axe talk?” 

“Axe talk?”

“You know – the one that goes, “If you hurt my daughter/son, I have an axe and several hidden tunnels. No one will find you”.”

Fortinbras burst into laughter. Then he sobered up. “That’s the gist of it, yes.” 

“No, thanks. I’ve heard it already from three Hobbits and two Dwarrows,” Thorin said morosely.

“Indeed? May I ask who?” 

“Let me see… the day I met Bilbo, an innkeeper in Michel Delving, damn his cheek. Bilbo’s aunt Linda, who at least put it very sweetly. And his niece! Why she’s practically an infant! Went through the speech with a soldier’s face on, too!” 

Fortinbas burst out laughing. “Did you say two Dwarrows warned you as well?” 

Thorin made a mock-angry face. “Yes, Dwarrows who call me their ruler, mind you. Apparently their allegiances have gone a bit shifty of late. Lucky for them they are good at what they do. One of them is an indispensable cook, and the other almost as indispensable a miner.” 

Fortinbras laughed and went to the sideboard to grab some pancakes. 

“You know what the sad part is?” Thorin said gloomily. “He isn’t even interested. Just hasn’t figured out how to let me down gently.” 

“Does that mean you are? Interested, I mean.”

“Yes.”

Fortinbras turned away, unable to bear the look in Thorin’s eyes. “Maybe I should be giving him the axe talk instead.”

Thorin grimaced. “Don’t worry about it. He’s young, handsome, rich, and probably prefers Hobbit lasses. What does the exiled scion of a vanishing line have to offer him?” 

Fortinbras laughed. “Are all Dwarrows this dramatic, or just you? Bilbo isn’t exactly young, by our reckoning. And he definitely doesn’t prefer lasses.”

“He doesn’t?”

“He’s had very few crushes, but the ones I remember were on taller, larger, dark-haired male Hobbits. And once on a shortish Man. That was embarrassing.” Fortinbras said reminiscently. “But I’ve never ever seen him look at any of his crushes the way he looks at you.” 

Thorin blushed under his tan, then sighed. “That does give me hope. Thank you.” 

Fortibras chomped into a large pancake and grinned behind his hand. 

But the cheerful mood didn’t last long. “I don’t know. What do I have to offer him other than the sparse comforts of Ered Luin?” 

“I think Bilbo knows exactly what you have to offer him. He’s a Hobbit and likes his comforts and pretty clothes, it’s true, but he’s all heart. If he loved you, he’d abandon everything and follow you into the wilderness without a handkerchief.” 

Thorin smiled into his cup of tea.


	12. Oh Yavanna! That’s Aule!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Everyone gathered around to inspect the painting and decided Mahal definitely looked like Uncle Thorin. Fili couldn’t decide whether it was a compliment or an insult to his uncle. On the one hand, Uncle Thorin wasn’t bad looking, he supposed, but not up to Dwarven standards. Uncle Thorin growled, obviously not flattered, “Doesn’t look like me at all.”**   
>  **“Oh it does!” said Bilbo. “Auntie Linda, don’t you think this looks like Thorin?”**   
>  **“Absolutely. Didn’t I say that when I first saw him?”**   
>  **Uncle Thorin threw up his hands, “I give up. You’re all deluded. He doesn’t have a beard!”**   
> 

Fili and Kili were practising with swords in the empty party field. Fili had both his swords, Kili a sword and a leather shield. Fili felt good – it was unimaginably good to stretch his muscles. They weren’t sparring, merely going through the steps, boots slamming into the earth, upper bodies and arms moving in the familiar dance. Three little fauntlings hung over a fence, watching them and giggling. After 40 minutes, they were both drenched in sweat.

“Fili! Kili!”

Fili stopped, pushing Kili aside, and turned. There was Rose, looking freshly bathed and dressed very prettily in soft green velvet and cream-coloured linen, a flower in her hair as usual. She waved at them wildly and ran over. “Do you want to see Yavanna’s temple? All the spring singers will be there for the Vala’s blessings.”

“When are we leaving?”

“We leave after breakfast, and after you’ve had a bath!,” she crinkled her nose fastidiously and Fili grinned. They certainly smelled rank. “Come along! There’s omelettes and pancakes and pie!”

Fili shrugged and looked at Kili, who was already halfway to the door. They went into the smial, and put away their swords. The others were already at the breakfast table – Bilbo and Aunt Linda, Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Bofur and Bombur. Rose slipped into the chair next to Bofur. Fili grinned. Rose was friendly with all the Dwarrows, but “Uncle Bofur” had become a firm favourite. Personally, Fili thought it was the hat. The children of Thorin’s Hall loved it. He supposed Hobbit children were no different.

Although Rose wasn’t exactly a child. The way she looked and acted, it was easy for all the Dwarrows, including Fili and Kili, to treat her like a child, but she had moments of adult maturity that threw one for a loop.

Fili sat down, grabbed three pancakes off the tray and drizzled honey on them. Heaven, he thought, as he bit into their delicious softness. The edge taken off his hunger, he started looking around for the omelettes. Dwalin threw a plate with three omelettes at him and he caught it neatly. Yummy. Spiced just the way he liked. Bombur must have made it.

Kili got another plate, and Fili noted with smug satisfaction that it only had two omelettes.

Uncle Thorin was sitting opposite Bilbo and looking at him with concern. Okay, perhaps he had reason. Bilbo was still pale and thin, not completely recovered from his ordeal. There was still a bandage on his head. Because the wound had been left open for so long, it had grown infected and was taking longer to heal. Poor Bilbo.

_But Uncle Thorin was so embarrassing. Nephews shouldn’t have to watch their ancient Uncles try to court cute young Hobbits. It was cruel and unusual punishment._

“Where are we going, Uncle Bilbo?” Kili suddenly piped up before Fili could shut him up. They called him Uncle Bilbo as a joke between themselves – definitely not in front of Uncle Thorin!

Fili threw a wooden coaster and hit Kili on the head.

“What? I can call him uncle if I want. Rose calls him uncle.”

Bilbo looked at Kili suspiciously.

“Kili! Shut it!” Fili hissed, before his irrepressible younger brother could make it worse. He then turned to Bilbo, “But in fact, where are we going?”

It was Aunt Linda who answered. “Yavanna’s temple at Bywater. Bilbo’s planning to start the spring singing, and he needs the goddess’ blessings.”

Balin asked, “Are you sure you’re up for it, laddie? Your wound hasn’t healed yet.”

Bilbo looked unconcerned. “It’s fine. If it tires me out, I’ll stop. And you’ll all be there to look after me, won’t you?” But he smiled only at Uncle Thorin.

_Ugh. Cute young Hobbits should stop flirting with susceptible elderly relatives if they don’t mean it. Seriously. Poor Uncle Thorin. He doesn’t know what hit him._

“We definitely will, young Bilbo.” Uncle Thorin said. “Err… what’s spring singing? Is it something you can tell us?”

“Oh yes! It’s not a secret. No one’s bothered to ask us about it, that’s all. Spring singing is farming with help from Yavanna. You stand in a field, and you call on Yavanna’s power, and you basically plough the soil!

Fili felt his jaw hanging open. What the …? The Hobbits knew magic! Suddenly he remembered the first time he had met Bilbo, when the Hobbit had asked Balin to enlighten him about mining. He had mentally sneered at the “ignorant” Hobbit, yet here he was, as ignorant about farming as Hobbits were about mining.

“How can you plough the soil without, you know, a plough?” Bofur asked. “It would be like mining without a pick!”

“That’s just it. We don’t know for sure. But the power flows through you and it just happens. And that’s only the basic level – all singers can do that. But as you develop your powers, you do more – you force out pests, pull out weeds, and, encourage the crops to grow. The last, especially if you’re in a garden or orchard, where you don’t need ploughing.”

“It sounds like magic!” Kili said excitedly.

“Well, stone sensing seemed like magic until I felt it myself.” And he smiled sweetly at Uncle Thorin. Again.

_Bilbo stop it. Uncle Thorin will spontaneously combust and Mama will blame me. You’re too young for this, Fili. Don’t even look at Uncle._

“And you know, Elves have their own magic. I’m not sure what magic Men have. There are a lot of them, so they probably have some kind of magic.”

Aunt Linda put down her cup of tea majestically and spoke. “The Shire runs on spring singing, you know. We don’t have enough labour to produce enough food even for ourselves. But with a tenth of the Hobbits having some skill at spring singing, the Shire produces enough for our 7 meals a day, and also enough for the rest of Eriador - including Bree and the Blue Mountains.”

Uncle Thorin inclined his head courteously in that dignified way he had. Must have picked it up from Balin.

She continued, “Bilbo is one of our best singers, you know. He has done farms of 30 acres in a day, all by himself. Other farms that size need several singers. Even the priestesses call him Yavanna’s child.”

Bilbo threw a doily at his aunt.

Kili had finished two pies and was looking around for more. “Are the pies finished?”

Rose giggled, went into the kitchen and came back with more pies. Fili grabbed one as she went by and glared at Kili. That bottomless pit.

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On the way, they split into three groups. Fili was in the front, with Kili, Rose and Bofur. Behind them, Bilbo walked slowly, leaning on Dwalin’s arm, with Uncle Thorin on the other side. At least Bilbo wasn’t leaning on Uncle Thorin’s arm. Some scenes are not for young eyes. Aunt Linda brought up the rear sedately between Balin and Bombur. Well-matched, that lot, for dignity and maturity.

The distance was just a mile, but Fili wondered if Bilbo was ok. Maybe he should have had a carriage? But he seemed healthier the more he walked, colour returning to his face. If Fili didn’t know better, he would think Bilbo was gathering strength from the earth through those big hairy feet.

They reached Bywater in good time, and the garden in a few more minutes. The garden was quite pretty, if one liked flowers. At the centre was an oak tree. Festively dressed Hobbits were going to the tree and kneeling down, while on either side, priestesses sprinkled holy water on them.

Like the other Hobbits, Bilbo went up to the tree and knelt, and closed his eyes. Fili could see he was murmuring a prayer. The priestesses sprinkled holy water on him, and he stood and came back to where the Dwarrows were assembled.

“Come on, you need to see the pavilion!” Fili was startled as Rose grabbed his hand and pulled. Then he grinned affectionately and followed. Rose’s way of getting anyone to go anywhere was to grab them by the hand and pull. And of course, the entire group followed.

The pavilion was small, about 20 feet by 20 feet, and made entirely of seasoned, ancient wood. It was covered, inside, outside, and on the ceiling, with paintings showing scenes from legends about Yavanna. A central painting took pride of place – he supposed it was Mahal and Yavanna at their wedding. Then he did a double-take.

“Kili!” he hissed.

“What?”

“Look at the painting! Isn’t that supposed to be Mahal?”

“Yes, of course. Mahal’s wife is Yavanna. What about it?”

“Look at it closely. Who does it resemble?”

Kili stepped back looked at it again and his jaw fell open. “Uncle Thorin, to the life!”

“What’s that, Kili?” Uncle Thorin came up. Bilbo followed like a puppet on a string.

“There’s a painting of you, Uncle.”

“What?”

Everyone gathered around to inspect the painting and decided Mahal definitely looked like Uncle Thorin. Fili couldn’t decide whether it was a compliment or an insult to his uncle. On the one hand, Uncle Thorin wasn’t bad looking, he supposed, but not up to Dwarven standards. Too tall. Like Kili. He himself was closer to Dwarven standards of beauty and was smugly sure he’d attract more Dwarrowdams than Kili would.

Uncle Thorin growled, obviously not flattered, “Doesn’t look like me at all.”

“Oh it does!” said Bilbo. “Auntie Linda, don’t you think this looks like Thorin?”

“Absolutely. Didn’t I say that when I first saw him?”

Uncle Thorin threw up his hands, “I give up. You’re all deluded. He doesn’t have a beard!”

Bilbo chuckled. “A Hobbit painted it, and Hobbits don’t have beards.” He looked at the painting and then at Uncle Thorin with a great deal of interest.

Fili pulled Kili close. “Look at Uncle Bilbo,” he whispered. “He’s going to start drooling any minute now.”

“Ugh. Fili! I can’t unsee it now!”

Dwalin drawled, “Maybe that’s why you look alike, Thorin. You don’t have much of a beard either!”

_Oh no. Dwalin! Tell me you didn’t go there!_

Thorin glowered at his so-called friend and blood brother. “You know very well why I don’t grow my beard!”

_Back off Dwalin. Back off Dwalin. You can’t start a fight in a temple._

Dwalin just laughed and turned away. Bilbo placed a hand on Uncle Thorin’s arm, and Uncle Thorin immediately subsided. _Well done, Uncle Bilbo._

The farm was about a mile to the west, and they walked there again. Fili still found it strange to walk over softly billowing hills instead of rocky peaks, but the Shire was beginning to grow on him. Strange. He had seen the Shire a few times in past years, but it had always seemed so strange, with strange little people looking at them with curious or unfriendly eyes. Now all that had changed. There were still curious looks thrown their way, but a lot of friendly smiles and waves as well. The Shire had changed. Now they were their allies and partners, and Uncle Thorin was considered a bit of a legend and a Hobbit-friend. Rose had told him a couple of the stories going around about Uncle. Hair-raising, they were. She hadn’t said if any of these stories featured Uncle Bilbo. Hmm. He’d have to ask her about that.

The farm was a smallish one, about 10 acres. Auntie Linda said it was used to grow potatoes and turnips. Fili understood the potatoes, they were nice fried or baked or mashed, but the turnips puzzled him. Who ate turnips? Horses?

Bilbo touched the ground with his fingertips.

“He’s asking for permission and forgiveness.” Rose hissed in Fili’s ear, and turned to tell Kili as well.

Bilbo walked about 100 feet into the farm, planted his huge, sturdy feet on the ground and closed his eyes. Nothing happened for about 5 minutes then amazingly, the topsoil started to crack up and crumble near his feet, and then further out, spreading out in a wave.

“I wouldn’t have believed it!” Fili whispered to Rose, but she was staring at Bilbo, looking concerned. The soil had stopped crumbling and was making soft noises now.

“Something’s wrong! He’s weakening. He’ll have to stop.” Rose pulled at Uncle Thorin’s arm. “Uncle Thorin! Ask him to stop. He listens to you.”

But Uncle Thorin ran across the field, over the boiling soil, to Bilbo’s side, and put his arms around him.

“No. No. Uncle Bill – no!” Rose gasped.

Fili turned to Rose. “He didn’t stop, did he? What are they trying to do?”

“They’re trying to combine their powers,” Kili said in a hushed whisper. “Just like Celeb Brill.”

“It’s too dangerous! Ohhh!” Rose stamped her feet. “Why are they doing this??”

Bofur walked over to them and put a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Hang on lass. Let’s see what happens.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Suddenly the soil started turning again in soft spurts that grew into hard cracks that made Rose wince. The ploughing became a churning wave that raced down the field, and stopped just at the periphery of the farm. Behind Bilbo and Thorin, the wave went on and on till it hit the far edge. Within two minutes, the entire field was ploughed.

Rose gulped and moved closer to Fili, “Fili, I’m scared. I’ve never seen such power.”

Fili put his arm around her. “Don’t be scared. They’re still your uncles. And ours.”

Kili put his arm around her from the other side. “Nothing to worry about, Rosy. Power hasn’t changed them, has it? And it’s power to do good, not to kill or hurt.”

Fili smiled at Kili approvingly.

“This is the part I hate. Fili, please lift me up?” Fili stared at Rose. “Sure.” He picked her up and lifted her to his shoulder. She was as light as a Dwarfling. He turned to Kili, “Kili, brace yourself. Something’s going to happen.”

And the rats started running out. There weren’t too many, just about a dozen ran past them. He turned around to see Aunt Linda perched up on a rock, holding onto Balin’s hand. The Dwarrows were wearing thick boots and didn’t care about a few rats.

“They’ve gone. You can get down now.”

“No. I can see better from here.” And Rose made herself more comfortable on Fili’s shoulder.

Fili looked at Kili who shrugged. Fili looked down at her hairy foot hanging level with his chest, and shrugged likewise. Rose could be such a fauntling sometimes!

“And there come the weeds. Oh Yavanna! Uncle’s never done that before!”

Fili watched in bewilderment as weeds popped out of the ground, flew through the air and ended up in a small heap outside the farm.

Kili giggled, “This is like watching a magic show! Are all of them like this? I’m not leaving till the season is over!”

“No, silly. Most of them just turn over the soil. Uncle does much more, but he’s never been as flashy as today. It’s your Uncle Thorin’s influence.”

“Oh so now he’s our Uncle Thorin, is he? He was your favourite Uncle yesterday when he gave you that sword fighting lesson!”

“They’re coming back.”

And sure enough, Bilbo and Uncle Thorin were walking back, Bilbo leaning on Uncle Thorin’s arm, looking tired but exultant.

Fili helped Rose down, and she ran to Bilbo. Fili and Kili followed more slowly.

“Uncle Bill, are you ok?”

“Yes, I am. Thorin took very good care of me, as you see.”

Rose glared at Thorin. “Uncle Thorin, I thought you were going to stop him! That was dangerous!”

Thorin looked genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry, Rosy-lass. It just felt like the right thing to do.”

Fili grinned. Only Rose could get away with scolding Uncle Thorin. She and Mama should get together some day.

Fili drew Bilbo’s arm through his own. “Are you feeling better, Bilbo?”

Bilbo leaned on Fili’s arm and grinned at him sunnily. “Much better. Exhilarated, in fact. I’ve never done anything like this! A whole farm in 10 minutes! Yavanna must be in a great mood!”

Rose scoffed. “A great mood is when it rains for a whole day. This isn’t a “great mood”. It’s power beyond anything we have ever seen! And it scares me, Uncle Bill!”

Fili stared at Rose. At that moment she didn’t look like a child at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I imagine the oil painting would have looked like: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3f/a2/05/3fa2053218aca58f8dc68c8efcc4f0aa.jpg. There's a tiny beard, but nothing a Dwarf would consider a beard!


	13. Bilbo Baggins and the Avatars of Valar?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **It would be so easy to reciprocate, to feel those strong arms around him, to feel those deliciously chiselled lips against his own. But was Bilbo sure of himself? Something told him if he took that step, it would be irrevocable.**

**The Shire**

The next morning was a lazy one. Fili, Kili, Bofur and Bombur were out for a walk. Thorin and Balin were in the study writing letters to the Thain, the Mayor and the Master of Buckland, informing them of their successful prospecting, and asking for a meeting to discuss terms for the actual mining. 

Bilbo was curled up on the sofa, reading. He was covered with a soft quilt, and was being royally pampered, not just by Aunt Linda but by Rose as well! Rose was, at the moment, sitting near the window, knitting “Uncle Bofur” a new cap, even zanier than his current one, for this one came in colors! She bit her lip as a knock came on the door and she lost her count. Rose grumbled, but went to open it anyway. 

She returned quickly with an apprehensive look. “Uncle, it’s Habby. He seems upset.”

Bilbo looked up from his book and set it aside. “Oh. Bring him in, Rose.” 

Haberast Pinter came in, looking harassed and anxious. Habby had been Bilbo’s classmate and close friend in school and was now his farmer tenant. Their friendship was close enough to bridge the social gap between landed gentry and farmer, but not the gap between Bilbo’s easy confidence and Habby’s natural timidity. 

“Habby! It’s been a long time! How about a cup of tea and some muffins? You’re just in time for second breakfast.” 

“Oh yes, thank you.” Habby sat down uncertainly on the sofa but didn’t smile. He looked hassled and harried. 

Rose got up and went into the kitchen.

Bilbo looked curiously at Habby. With Habby one could never know. He always looked so hassled, that it was hard to figure out whether something serious or something petty was bothering him. “What’s wrong? Can I help?” 

“It’s the spring singing, Bilbo.” Haberast ran his hands through his hair feverishly, causing Bilbo to wince at the way he was ruining his beautifully combed hair. 

“Tell me.” Bilbo said kindly.

And then it all came out in a rush. “They did say at the temple that you were injured and wouldn’t do any more spring singing this year, and I didn’t know where to go. You were travelling last year and I paid the Shortstaff brothers to do my farm, but the crops were very poor. I don’t have enough money to pay for spring singers this year, and you know it’s just my daughter and me, we can’t do the ploughing. I can’t even afford to rent a plough this year. I can’t bear to lose my farm. It’s been in my family for generations.” And Haberast burst into tears. 

Bilbo silently handed him a handkerchief and Habby blew his nose loudly. 

Bilbo said apologetically, “Habby. I’m really sorry. We have always had an unwritten agreement that I would sing for you, and I did not keep my word last year, and I’m really sorry. This year I will, no matter what. But the last session took it out of me somewhat. I need another day to recover. I can come on Thursday. Will you be there?”

“I will, but Bilbo, are you sure you can do it?” Habby looked even unhappier. “They said you were very ill, and you still have that bandage around your head and you look pale and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you…” Habby looked like he was going to burst into tears again. 

“I’ll be fine, Habby. I have help, you know. My friend will stand with me – he gives my spring-singing so much more power than I could ever have imagined.” 

“Your friend?” 

“His name’s Thorin. I would introduce you to him, but he’s a bit busy right now.” 

“Thorin Oakenshield, the Warrior Dwarf? The one who saved Buckland from wolves?” 

“Well, yes, he did kill a pack of wolves at Brandywine Bridge.” 

Habby looked awed. “He’ll come to my farm? Marigold will be thrilled! We’ll have a spanking tea ready for all of you when you come.” But a sudden anxiety crept into Habby’s eyes, and Bilbo immediately knew what had put that wrinkle in his friend’s brow. 

Bilbo put the quilt covering him legs aside and got up awkwardly. He said, “Wait. I’ll be back.”

Bilbo slowly walked to his room, went up to the chest of drawers, took out a money purse, put in 50 copper, 20 silver, and 5 gold coins, and returned. 

He pressed it into Habby’s hand. “This is for you. Please don’t refuse. Let me make up a little for the losses you bore last year because I wasn’t there.”

“Bilbo, I can’t take this.”

“You can, and you will. If not for you, then for Marigold. It will tide you over till the crops come in.” 

Habby burst into tears again and hugged Bilbo around the middle. And as he had done many times throughout their childhood, Bilbo put his arms around Habby’s shoulders and murmured words of comfort. 

There was a slight sound from the doorway. They turned around to see Thorin standing there, looking like a thundercloud. 

Habby got up hurriedly. “I’d better go. Thank you so much, Bilbo. I’ll see you Thursday.” He bowed low to Thorin and hurried out. 

Bilbo yelled after him, “You forgot the muffins!” 

“Another time!”

Bilbo glared at Thorin and settled back into the sofa. He picked up his book and tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate. He was furious at Thorin. By what right did he glare at his closest friend? What right did he have to stand in judgement on anything Bilbo did? If Bilbo wanted to hug anyone, he would. If he wanted to kiss someone, he would. And Thorin could go hang. They weren’t even courting, after all.

Thorin sat down on a chair next to him and looked at him searchingly. 

Bilbo barked, “What?”

Thorin’s voice was low with anxiety, fear and resentment. “Why was that Hobbit hugging you?”

Bilbo put his book aside and looked straight into Thorin’s eyes. “None of your business.”

Thorin sat back, breathing hard. He got up, almost painfully, and went back to his room. 

Bilbo sat there for five more minutes, then swore to himself, got up, and limped slowly to Thorin’s room. Thorin and Balin were finishing up, and Balin was almost at the door. Bilbo knocked on the open door and Thorin looked up. Balin nodded to Bilbo and walked out. Thorin sat down on the bed. 

Bilbo sat opposite Thorin on the sofa and spoke softly, deliberately lightening his tone, “That was Habby, a very old friend, and my tenant. He came to beg me to do spring singing for his farm. Last year’s harvest didn’t turn out well, and he’s at the end of his tether. And no, he was never my suitor or lover. I’ve never had either.”

Thorin looked up. “I know. Kili told me.”

“And I’m sorry I snapped. I am not accustomed to … this. Whatever we have.” 

“Do we have anything?” Thorin asked despairingly, and Bilbo’s heart smote him at the look in Thorin’s eyes. They may not have been courting, but Thorin had made his intentions very clear, and Bilbo had been encouraging him. He could not pretend to be totally unattached while keeping Thorin on a string. That was highly improper, and moreover, cruel. And also dishonest, because Bilbo definitely was attached. To what extent was the question. 

Bilbo got up, sat down next to Thorin and placed a hand on his arm. “We do, don’t we? We are very good friends, and we could be more, I feel.” 

Thorin looked up hopefully. “Are you saying there’s hope? For us?”

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand in his and turned it over, slowly opening up his clenched fingers. “I don’t know! I’ve never felt anything like this before.” 

But then Bilbo looked up and was startled at the expression in Thorin’s eyes. And then it hit him like a thunderbolt. While Bilbo was still wondering whether or not to start a courtship, Thorin was already committed. That naked yearning in Thorin’s eyes – it could not mean anything but the very deepest love. He had the power to hurt this Dwarf very badly indeed, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. 

It would be so easy to reciprocate, to feel those strong arms around him, to feel those deliciously chiselled lips against his own. But was Bilbo sure of himself? Something told him if he took that step, it would be irrevocable.

“Yes, of course there is. I already care for you very much as a dear friend, and find you very attractive, too. It’s not an unreasonable hope.” 

Thorin looked up, “You find me attractive?” 

Bilbo blushed. “You know I do. I have, from the start.” 

Thorin sighed deeply. He took Bilbo’s hand in his and kissed it, pressing his lips hard on Bilbo’s soft palm. “I’ll be content with that, for now.” 

Bilbo placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “And you won’t be possessive and jealous? You know I’ve never had a relationship – you’re the only one who’s even come close.”

Thorin smiled, a little wistful smile. “I promise I won’t. Since I know this much about your heart, I can wait.” 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

On Thursday, Bilbo and Thorin, accompanied by Rose, the princes, and Bofur, arrived at Habby’s doorstep. His farm was toward the north-west of the Shire. Habby welcomed them, but looked a little apprehensive of Thorin until Thorin came forward with a warm, genuine smile and shook his hand. 

This farm was bigger than the last one, being close to 40 acres. 

Bilbo inspected it and turned to Thorin, “What do you say? Shall we do it all at one go?” 

“Are you sure you can?” 

“With you, yes.” And Bilbo looked at Thorin trustingly. 

As they turned to go, two female Hobbits rushed up. Bilbo turned back. Ah – Jane and Alice. They were priestesses of the temple during festivals, but Jane was a grandmother and weaver, while Alice, just 34, was the librarian at Michel Delving. They were also spring singers in their own right. Alice, who had been Rose’s senior at school by several years, grinned at her, then turned to study Rose’s interesting new friends. 

Jane, a stern matriarch, still had a soft spot for Bilbo, “William! Can we watch? We heard your last spring singing was spectacular!” 

Rose giggled. “Uncle Bill was showing off.” 

Jane gave Rose a reproving look and she subsided. 

“Please do. Let me introduce you to my friends,” and Bilbo introduced all the Dwarrows. Alice stared at Thorin and almost forgot to curtsey. 

She came over to Rose and hissed, “He looks like the painting of Aule in the temple!” 

Rose giggled again, and Fili and Kili went off into paroxysms of silent laughter. 

Bilbo and Thorin walked into the centre of the field. To their left was a huge flat rock embedded into the soil. Thorin nodded at it. “I don’t know much about farming, but that rock seems like a lot of wasted space.” 

“It certainly is. Almost 40 square feet, I’d say. Why do you ask?” 

“If we had a few mattocks, we could pull it out, easy.” 

“Or…” Bilbo stopped, thinking. 

“Or?”

Bilbo’s voice quivered with both suppressed excitement and laughter, “We can do rather a lot together. Do you want to try if we can dislodge the rock and split it? Dwarrows are rock-cleavers, after all.”

“Really? Has any spring singer ever done that?”

“I don’t think so, but we are unique, aren’t we? It’s 200 feet from the edge of the farm. It won’t hurt anyone. Imagine how spectacular it would be if we did it!” 

Thorin seemed a bit sceptical, but, at Bilbo’s mischievous look, gave up and said, “All right, young Bilbo. Although this isn’t a proper young Baggins talking.” Bilbo giggled. A little impropriety was just what the doctor ordered, he thought. 

The farm was about 1000 feet deep and 1300 feet wide. At the centre of the farm, Bilbo planted his feet firmly. Thorin stood behind him, then put his arms around him, his hands sliding beneath Bilbo’s jacket and splaying open on his bare stomach. He placed his chin on Bilbo’s shoulder, their cheeks pressed together. 

“I’m not sure this is proper,” Bilbo said demurely. 

Thorin brushed his beard against Bilbo’s cheek. “How can we tell? There is no precedent. We are already scandalous, you know. A Hobbit spring singing with a Dwarf!” 

Bilbo giggled. “Shut up, you.”

Thorin relaxed, holding Bilbo loosely so as not to interfere with the flow of power. Bilbo started chanting and soon felt the power of the earth filling him. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Outside the farm, a set of enthralled Hobbits and Dwarrows watched as the hard topsoil started cracking up in sharp, swift waves. Alice held onto Rose’s arm. “Rose! I’ve never seen anything like it! It’s as if Yavanna herself were spring singing!” 

The earth broke up in neat parallel grooves throughout the rest of the farm, but the wave faltered when it touched the flat rock. Suddenly, in front of the shocked observers, the rock shuddered, then huge cracks started to appear in it. It shuddered again, then suddenly the rock seemed to burst upward from the soil and fell back, lying about in broken pieces, the largest a foot square. 

“Yavanna!” Alice breathed, “It’s them! It’s Aule and Yavanna!” 

Rose, who was tensely gripping Fili’s arm turned around and snapped, “What are you talking about?” 

“Do you remember the tale of the first spring singing after the Deadtime?”

“No. Is it in the library?” 

“In the temple archives, actually. Aule and Yavanna do exactly this in their spring singing – they do it together, there’s a rock in the field, which they split into pieces, and then they find gold in the rock, and the Dwarrows take the rock with them.” 

Rose, who had already tensed up at the blatant show of power by her uncles, said irritably, “Alice, I hate to say this, but you read too much. You need to get out into the sunshine a bit more. That’s Uncle Bill and Uncle Thorin, not Valar. And if you haven’t noticed, Uncle Bill isn’t female.” 

“The Valar can place their avatars into mortal souls. Pansy Bracegirdle, the author of “Yavanna and the Dance of the Soul” clearly says so.” 

“If you say so, Alice.” Behind her, Kili gleefully took note. They were getting plenty of material to embarrass their uncles for a month!

Fili stroked Rose’s hand to calm her down, and stepped into the breach, “We can easily check if the rock story matches.” 

Alice looked around, her face softening as she looked up at the handsome young prince. “And how?” 

“I have Dwarven stone sense. If the rock has gold in it, I can tell you, once they finish.” 

Alice nodded. 

Rose cut in abruptly, “The rats will be out soon! Fili, up!”

Fili good-naturedly picked Rose up and placed her on his shoulder in front of a scandalized Alice. 

“Rose!” she hissed. “You’re not a child anymore!” 

“No, but I’m still scared of rats!”

Alice shook her head and looked cautiously at Fili. He nodded reassuringly. “I have a cousin about this age in Dwarven years, Miss Alice. She means nothing by it, I know.”

Kili piped up, “And you needn’t worry. If my brother puts a foot out of line, my Uncle will cut it off before Bilbo gets a look in. And I’m pretty sure I won’t stop him.” 

“Oh shut up, you two!” Rose said very rudely from her perch. 

Alice smiled tentatively. She wasn’t much older than Rose, but they had gone to school together, and she loved the spirited orphan. Also, like many of her classmates, she still had a lingering crush on Rose’s handsome, stylish uncle. 

Bilbo and Thorin walked back to the gate. Habby ran into the field, hugged Bilbo and burst into tears till Bilbo trenchantly told him to stop being such a waterspout. 

Fili, Kili, Alice and Rose ran to where the pieces of rock lay. Kili picked up a piece and said “Don’t need stone sense. Look!” 

And sure enough, there were glimmers of gold throughout the rock. 

Alice looked triumphant and vindicated. Her book club was going to love this story! 

Rose made a face, then ran up to Haberast. “Habby! That old rock of yours has gold in it. Do you want the gold taken out?”

“Does it? You can have it, Rosy. Perhaps your friends can help you get the gold?” 

“But it’s yours!” 

“Consider it a repayment! I’m only too happy to be rid of it!” Habby grinned happily. His problems were taken care of. His daughter and he would complete the sowing soon. He should have known Bilbo would come through for him – when had he not?

Rose asked, “Can we borrow your cart?”

And so they returned in state to Bag End, Rose and Bilbo perched upon the cart, the rest of it full of rock pieces. Fili and Bofur had quickly sensed through the pieces and discarded the ones with no ore. A round of pulverising with hammers, a little panning beside the stream, and they’d get the grains of gold hidden in the rock. Fili was already quietly designing a necklace for Rose in his mind – the question was how to give it to Rose without it seeming like a courting gift. Fili had no intention of courting anyone till he was older, much less a juvenile Hobbit! 

But of course! He wouldn’t give it to Rose. “Uncle Bofur” would!


	14. And the storm clouds start to gather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin bowed, and continued, “We know what it is to lose one’s home. We will not stand by as our friends are exiled. We have a stake in the Shire’s well-being. We don’t have the numbers we did before the Battle of Khazad-Dum, but I pledge 2,000 trained warriors to protect the Shire. Including the three of us and our kin.”**

Another idyllic week went by. Encouraged by his success at Haberast’s farm, Bilbo went on his usual rounds to all his farms, hand in hand with Thorin, and the farmers were not just grateful, they were enthralled at the show. The tales of the magical spring singing duo grew in the telling and pretty soon half the Shire believed they were Aule and Yavanna reborn. That Bilbo was male was neither here nor there. Everyone knew the soul had no gender. 

The less credulous were no less entertained – bets were being laid across the Shire on when the confirmed bachelor of Bag End would tie his lot to the Warrior King. As a side effect, some of the Dwarrows found themselves unexpectedly popular, as half the Shire were buying them drinks in the hope of getting insider information! 

Well, some of the Dwarrows. Fili and Kili, however much they teased their formidable Uncle in public, were tight-lipped about him to strangers, even when they were drunk. And it was impossible to get Balin drunk. The more easy-going Bofur, Bombur and Dwalin found themselves lavishly feted in pubs that had previously turned Dwarrows away. 

Bilbo and Thorin were bombarded with pleas to sing at farms around the Shire. Thorin was reluctant to risk Bilbo’s health, but Bilbo was too kind to turn away the poorer farmers, especially as he gained strength and the spring singing became easier and easier. They covered more farming area in a week than most Hobbits did in their entire life. 

The bandages came off, and Bilbo started out-eating even Kili at the dining table. His face filled out again, and the rest of him was also well on its way back to its usual softness. His shirts soon started to fit him again, and his cheeks changed again from interestingly pale to roses and cream. Thorin couldn’t decide which he preferred. Bilbo looked beautiful in any guise. But he was definitely happy to see the thicker coats go back into the chests, and Bilbo’s lighter, more form-fitting coats come out. 

Thorin and Balin got a letter from the Thain, inviting them to the Great Smials for a meeting. Another invitation came for Bilbo, for the same meeting. Bilbo put on one of his new waistcoats, a rather gorgeous soft turquoise, with a delicate edging of embroidery, over a light blue shirt. It was warm enough that he dispensed with the coat entirely, merely winding a cravat around his neck. Thorin didn’t quite disrobe to the same extent, but he left off his overcoat, and wore a dark green coat over another of his endless array of black shirts. Bilbo thought he looked quite lovely. Now if could only persuade Balin to tame his beard into a few silky braids. Dwalin, of course, with those tattoos, was always eye-catching and stylish, whatever he wore. 

But when the four of them, along with Scribe Farin who had joined them for the meeting, arrived at the Great Smials, they felt a certain tension in the air. Bilbo sensed that it had nothing to do with the Dwarrows. They were met by the Thain, the Master of Buckland, and the Mayor. Fortinbras and Gorbadoc, of course, greeted them like old friends, and the Mayor too greeted them warmly. By now the Dwarrows were known and liked in the Shire, and even if he were inclined to, the Mayor would not swim against the tide. And Mayor Hoarfoot was a kindly soul, with no grudge against other races. 

Once they had all eaten and drunk and were all seated in the large meeting room, Fortinbras opened the discussion by inviting Thorin to speak. 

Thorin looked around and spoke formally and in measured tones, for the benefit of the scribes. “Three months ago, all of you kindly allowed us to start prospecting in Celeb Brill. The prospecting is not yet complete, but we have gathered enough information to know that mining there is a viable proposition. We are not yet sure how much the mines will produce, but we are prepared to offer the Shire a partnership, whereby the Shire continues to provide us food and other items in return for payment, of course, as per the original deal.” 

He stopped looked around to where the Hobbits, including Bilbo, were nodding at him, and continued. “In addition, one-twentieth of the sales of all finished products from Celeb Brill will be handed over to a trust set up by the three of you, to be used for the benefit of Buckland and the Shire in whatever manner the trust considers appropriate, whether it’s helping the less fortunate, or for public works, or whatever they consider beneficial.” 

Bilbo was stunned, but said nothing. Fortinbras turned around and asked Bilbo. “What does that mean?” 

“It means the Shire will grow rich along with the Dwarrows, for no effort. One-twentieth of finished product sales is a huge amount! I had not imagined Thorin would be so generous, and I know him pretty well now.” 

“What do you advise? Should we accept?”

Bilbo thought for a few moments. “We must meet their generosity with our own if this alliance is to prosper and grow. I think you should accept, but stipulate that the trust will for the benefit of all the Hobbits and Dwarrows in Eriador. And the trust board should have equal numbers of Hobbits and Dwarrows.” 

“Eriador? Why Eriador?” asked Gorbadoc. 

Bilbo thought for a moment, then said, “I foresee a time, Gorbadoc, when the Hobbits and the Dwarrows will be more closely aligned than one can imagine today. The times are growing dark, and the only way to keep evil creatures at bay is for Eru’s peoples to work together. I predict the Hobbits will not always be confined to the Shire and Buckland, nor Dwarrows to the Blue Mountains. This trust will be a way of holding the two peoples together for their common good.” 

The other three immediately looked sombre. Fortinbras nodded. “Bilbo, I almost hear the voice of the Oracle while you’re speaking.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ll know soon enough. But for now, I support Bilbo’s suggestion. How about you?” he asked the others. 

Jim Hoarfoot was a savvy soul, and he agreed. By now the tide of opinion was strongly in favour of Dwarrows, and this deal would not only be just and fair, he knew exactly how to spin it for maximum positivity before the next election. Gorbadoc, as usual, agreed with everything Bilbo said. 

Fortinbras turned back and announced the counter-offer to Thorin. Thorin looked surprised and raised an eyebrow at Bilbo, who smiled and nodded, very pleased. The scribes wrote the initial agreement down, and all of them signed it. 

Then Fortinbras turned grave. “We have a less happy meeting today, with the Rangers. Your Highness, could you and your advisors stay as well? We’ll be glad of people with actual battle experience at the meeting.” 

Thorin looked concerned, but of course he agreed to stay. The Dwarrows moved away from the centre table to a smaller table a distance away. 

The little Hobbit scribe stepped out to call the Rangers. But when they came in, they were accompanied by a tall, grey-haired stranger in a grey robe and a grey hat. Bilbo thought he looked vaguely familiar, but couldn’t put a finger on it. There were six Rangers, three of whom he already knew – Blackshirt, Windstorm, and Hunter. 

Windstorm stepped forward. “Thank you for meeting with us. I’m known as Windstorm, and my friends are Archer, Hunter, Blackshirt, Trapper and Stalker. And this is another friend of ours, although not a Ranger. He may be known to some of you. Gandalf the Grey.” 

Fortinbras got up in excitement. “Oh my goodness. You’re the one with the fireworks!”

Gandalf laughed, “Yes, young Took. And you’re the rascal who stole the fireworks at your own coming of age party!” 

The Thain of the Shire laughed like a little boy at the memory. “You’re very welcome, Gandalf! But if I may ask, why are you here, I mean at this meeting?” 

Gandalf sat down between the Rangers. He suddenly looked tired. “It’s not good news. In fact it’s the worst possible. You probably are not aware, but beyond the Shire, to the North and the East, gangs of Orcs have been getting more numerous over the years. Thus far the Rangers have been able to protect the Shire from small bands of orcs, but now there’s a new threat. A very real threat.”

He paused for breath. “There’s a new Orc leader in Angmar. A very clever Orc. He has somehow figured out what we have kept secret for ages, that the Shire is the real heart of Eriador. To destroy the west, he’s planning to burn its heart.”

Bilbo’s heart beat wildly. Oh this was not good. This was very very bad. 

Gandalf continued, “The Rangers came to tell you that their company will come to protect you, but I fear that will not be enough. Even 50 Rangers cannot protect you against an army of 10,000 Orcs. I came to ask you to flee your homes and return when the danger is over.” 

There was silence for a while. Then Fortinbras lifted his head and spoke freezingly, “Return where, Gandalf? Surely the Orcs will leave nothing to return to? What if they decide to make the Shire another camp of theirs?”

Gandalf looked pained. “That would be disastrous, and exactly what I am afraid of. We’ll lose the Great Eastern Road, and all of Eriador. But at least you will be alive.” 

There was a rustle to the side, and Bilbo turned to see Thorin get up. He spoke, in a voice full of emotion, “The Hobbits will not be exiled from their homes if we can help it. The Rangers will not stand alone. The Dwarrows of Ered Luin will stand with them.” 

Gandalf and the Rangers turned. They hadn’t realized there were Dwarrows in the room. 

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.” Thorin bowed, and continued, “We know what it is to lose one’s home. We will not stand by as our friends are exiled. We have a stake in the Shire’s well-being. We don’t have the numbers we did before the Battle of Khazad-Dum, but I pledge 2,000 trained warriors to protect the Shire. Including the three of us and our kin.” 

“Thorin Oakenshield,” said Gandalf. “I did not expect to meet you here, in the Shire. I knew your father and grandfather.” 

Thorin inclined his head. “My grandfather has mentioned you,” he said briefly. 

Gandalf nodded, “Not as a friend, I’m sure.” 

Thorin smiled crookedly, “Not as a friend, no.” 

Gandalf continued, “I’m not sure I understand. Why would your warriors protect the Shire? Hobbits are no kin of yours.” 

“You said it yourself – the Shire is the heart of Eriador. And we will not let Orcs burn our heart out again. Once at Azanulbizar was enough.” 

Thorin looked earnestly at Bilbo and was warmed by the look of gratitude and affection he got in return. 

Gandalf raised his brows and studied Thorin thoughtfully. What he saw must have satisfied him, for he nodded. “I must say that improves the odds. But even 2,000 Dwarrows will not be able to hold back 10,000 Orcs. Those things are killing machines, with neither feelings nor fear.” 

“How about 30,000 Hobbits?” Bilbo spoke up for the first time, getting up and looking Gandalf straight in the eye. 

“What?”

“I beg your pardon. I should have introduced myself…”

“We all know who you are, Bilbo Baggins! Get on with it.” 

Bilbo felt a little affronted but this was too important for him to be side-tracked. He continued, “We may be a peace-loving people, but we will not hide behind closed doors while our friends fight on our behalf. Thirty years ago, when I was a boy, the Shire was attacked by white wolves from the North. We defended the Shire, all of us. Many of us died, but most survived. This time we’ll be better prepared. Perhaps not with swords or bows and arrows, but give us a set of throwing knives, and you’ll see how useful the game of conkers is. There are over 200,000 Hobbits in the Shire. I’m pretty sure we can gather 30,000 and more to defend our homeland.” 

Beside him, Gorbadoc cleared his throat, “And another 5,000 of the best from Buckland.”

Thorin put in, “If it’s throwing knives you need, our forges can make thousands and start bringing them here in a couple of weeks. Can a few of your experts travel to Ered Luin to test them?” 

“Oh definitely. I know one young Brandybuck at least who’ll jump at the chance.” And Bilbo smiled at Gorbadoc. 

Gorbadoc shook his head sadly, “Rory is always flitting about. Never stays still.” 

Windstorm spoke up, “Gandalf, your information seems to be newer than ours. Do you know where the attack will come from? And when?” 

“When, I’m not sure, but my spies tell me they haven’t started gathering yet, so there is still time. More than a month, certainly. Once they start moving, they’ll be here in a month. As for where, my belief is they’ll avoid the river, which their wargs cannot pass, and come in around Lake Evendim. So they’ll hit Northfarthing first.” 

“Most likely Bindbole Wood, by the lake route,” Hunter said thoughtfully. 

The tallest Ranger, Trapper, said, “That would make it easier for us. It’s easier to defend a wood than open land. Especially if the trees are full of knife-throwing Hobbits!” 

Balin interjected gravely, “We also need to keep these plans secret. Remember, if we can spy on them, they can spy on us.” 

Gandalf nodded approvingly. “You’re right. But if you can find a way to hide 50 Rangers, 2,000 Dwarrows and 30,000 Hobbits training for war, you’re cleverer than I am, young Balin.”

Balin looked startled at being called young, but let it go. “We don’t hide them. We provide a reason for them to be here. Maybe a festival? Or no – a fair! The Rangers can pretend to be traders from Bree, and we’ll be ourselves – traders and smiths.” 

Gandalf said, “You do realise, all of you, that these are killing machines? You must be prepared for failure. And failure means death.” 

Fortinbras said gravely, “We do realise that, Gandalf. But we will not leave the Shire while there is still a chance. We won’t be suicidal, though – we’ll keep escape routes open as a last resort, and get as many of the fauntlings and the elderly away as soon as we can, quietly.”

“Well, if you are determined, I have nothing more to say. But if nothing else, such an unusual alliance, of Men, Hobbits and Dwarrows, deserves a sporting chance at success. I will try to bring you help that may better your odds. The Great Eastern Road is essential to at least two groups of Elves. They might be convinced to join the fight. The problem with Elves is that it is very difficult for them to accept the enormity of mortality.” 

Thorin looked like he had bitten into a lemon, but kept his mouth shut. When you’re courting an Elf-friend, it’s not politic to show how much you hate Elves. 

“Well, goodbye, then.” Gandalf got up and left, abruptly. 

The Rangers, Hobbits and Dwarrows looked at each other. “That’s Gandalf for you,” said Windstorm. “Well, I must say I’m feeling much more cheerful than when we came in. We thank you, Lords of Ered Luin, for standing by your neighbours in this battle.” 

Thorin nodded, “We can do no less. The fate of our peoples are bound together. And I have made so many good friends here that I have a personal stake in the Shire’s safety.” Thorin bowed to the four Hobbits sitting at the table. Bilbo tried to look indifferent, and Fortinbras hid a smile. 

“We will need a war council, won’t we?” asked Gorbadoc. 

“Yes,” said Windstorm. “And a place to meet.” 

“Let’s set up a tent under the party tree. It’s near the centre of the Shire, where all of us can meet. And any others we care to bring in.” 

“Where do we hold the Fair, then?” 

And the discussions started. Looking at Thorin’s noble profile as he discussed strategies of war with the less experienced Rangers, Bilbo felt a fierce pride. Here Thorin was in his element, all the experience and skills of a well-trained strategist coming to the fore. To listen to Thorin and Balin bounce ideas off each other was a delight, and seeing the Rangers’ looks of awe turn slowly into abiding respect was even better. Bilbo joined in occasionally, his deeper knowledge of that part of the world giving him an advantage. 

The discussions went on long into the night, carrying on after a tired Gorbadoc excused himself and took himself off to bed. Battle plans started to come together. 

Bilbo withdrew from the table after a while and sat back, watching the others sleepily. Fortinbras came and sat down beside him. “They don’t really need us,” he said. 

“Yes, it’s rather startling. This is a side of Thorin I’ve never seen. I knew he was a warrior and a hero, but I hadn’t visualised him as a commander. Although I knew he must have been one.” 

“Yes, he’s rather special, isn’t he? We are lucky to have him and the Rangers supporting us.” 

Bilbo nodded. “I feel ashamed of my people. There are still shops and eateries that won’t serve Dwarrows in the Shire, and we will have soon 2,000 of them fighting on our behalf.” 

“We can’t have that now, can we? I’ll talk to Gorbadoc and Jim. In two days, we’ll paste notices across the Shire and Buckland that Dwarrows are officially our allies and anyone refusing service to Dwarrows will lose their license. We cannot afford infighting when we are preparing to face an army.” 

Bilbo nodded sleepily and drifted off. Fortinbras smiled.


	15. If this is to end in fire...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The two armies collided in the middle of the narrow plain. Thorin and the Dwarrows laid into the warg-riders as if they were reaping wheat. Bilbo fought the best way he could, by cutting open warg bellies from below, or slashing their saddle straps. Black blood sprayed all around him, disgustingly. But there was no time to think about that.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battle scene. Trigger warnings for violence, gore and death. Somewhat explicit in places.

A month went by. At Bywater, a trading fair opened. The Rangers set up their stalls, with actual goods that they had brought from Bree. They changed their clothes – from their usual sombre livery to brighter colors. Below the stalls, their weapons and armour stayed hidden. 

Several Dwarrows started setting up their stalls too. They arrived first on ponies, then on carts, from Ered Luin. Hidden in the saddlebags of the ponies and in the carts were stacks of long, sharp throwing knives. Most of the Dwarrows who brought the goods were fighters who quietly disappeared into Bindbole Wood, where dark green tents blossomed, hidden beneath the trees from prying eyes. The carts were dismantled into short lengths of wood, which the Dwarrows tied into long rope ladders. The plan was that when the assault reached the Wood, the Hobbits would run up these into the trees and take down as many as they could with their knives. 

Gandalf’s fear of Orcish spies was quite real, but he had, perhaps in the heat of the moment, forgotten one important thing – orcs and their allies, the wargs, goblins and other similar creatures, could not travel through the Shire without being spotted. The Orcs in the South had allies among Men, but not so the Orcs of the Misty Mountains. Thus the Orcs relied on birds to do their spying for them, from the air. As long as nothing could be spotted from the air, they were safe. Meanwhile, Nori’s spies kept an eye out for any strange Men or other creatures entering or exiting the Shire.

As the Rangers and the Dwarrows started their preparations, so did the Hobbits. The conkers players started training. Knife-throwing competitions were held across the Shire under the shade of trees, hidden from the skies. The winners would have the dubious honour of standing at the head of the army and taking first shots at the Orcs. 

Rory’s sister Amaranth “Amy” Brandybuck, Herugar’s wife Jessamine, and Prisca Baggins took over the management of the Shire’s kitchens, which worked overtime to make food for all the visitors. They supervised the production of extra food, and ensured each and every visitor was fed, regularly and well. The reserve cellars were opened, and grains, smoked meat and pickled foods brought to light. 

Quietly, the elderly and fauntlings, with their carers, got on boats and went down the river to hole up in the Black Wood, or Eryn Vorn as the Elves called it. Twenty warrior Dwarrows went with them for protection. 

Escape routes were set up across the Shire, in case the Orcs could not be held off. A new fleet of boats and rafts were made and hidden by the Brandywine river. Every Hobbit packed their valuables for easy access. 

Nori’s ravens flew to the North every three days or so, in turns, and brought back news. 

But amid all these grim preparations, the typical Hobbit spirit rose to the fore. The knife throwing contests turned into real competitions. To everyone’s surprise, Rose showed an unexpected aptitude for knives and won the top knife-throwing contest handily, beating the reigning conkers champions from Buckland. 

The next day, the porch at Bag End was covered in congratulatory bouquets from many of her defeated rivals, including several girl Hobbits. Bilbo glared impotently as Rose put them into vases and giggled. One of these was from Rory, but since the note attached had a smiley face with its tongue sticking out, it was clearly not a courting bouquet. Bilbo privately thought that was a pity, even though Rose towered over Rory, who was a little Hobbit.

Fili and Kili laughed shamelessly at Bilbo, but later quietly told Thorin that “Hobbits courted using flowers!” Thorin had a quiet discussion with a giggling Aunt Linda, and later that evening Bilbo found a bewildering bouquet on his study table, a mix of camellias, carnations, orange blossoms, primroses, roses and daffodils, all emblems of love. 

Bilbo immediately went over to Thorin and gave him a kiss on the cheek, making Thorin blush and go misty-eyed. 

Community meetings were held throughout the Shire to raise morale. To any outsiders, they would have looked like part of the fair, with food and drink aplenty. At every meeting, some of the Alliance leaders spoke. Fortinbras was a popular figure, and to a lesser extent, Mayor Hoarfoot. But no one was as popular as Thorin Oakenshield. For some reason the Shire found his speaking voice enthralling, and meetings where both Thorin and Bilbo spoke together were generally packed. 

The younger Hobbits found Bilbo and Thorin fascinating. Everything about them was grist to the mill – their supposed love story, unusual spring singing, and their undeniable beauty, especially when they stood together, one tall, dark and majestic, the other blond, of medium height, and boyishly handsome. A group of young Hobbits started following Bilbo and Thorin around from meeting to meeting, cheering wildly at the appropriate spots. One of them even sneakily tried to snip off a bit of fur from Thorin’s coat! 

Fili, Kili and Rose thought this was the ultimate in entertainment. Overnight, they became exemplars of filial love, following their uncles around the Shire with touching devotion. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

A couple of weeks later, Nori’s spies brought word. The orcs were on the move. But within a week came really bad news – they had badly underestimated the number of orcs. This wasn’t an army of 10,000 – it was almost twice that figure, from what the ravens could see. 

The news spread through the Shire, but their response was to throw themselves even further into the war effort. Instead of Bilbo’s estimate of 30,000 Hobbits, closer to 50,000, male and female, young and old Hobbits, stood ready to fight and die. Every house had targets set up on walls inside – Hobbits trained themselves in sword fighting and knife throwing indoors and outdoors. The rest of the Hobbits stood by to help in any way they could. 

Carts continued to trundle up from Ered Luin, filled with knives, each with the emblem of the Shire carved into the handle on one side, and that of the Line of Durin on the other. With one of the carts came a messenger from the Lady Dis. She sent a letter of encouragement and love to her kin, and more weapons and armour. 

And when the Orcs were barely two days away, the Elves came. Bilbo was holed up in Bindbole Wood with Thorin and the first line of defense, when Nori brought the news. Fifty Elves from Rivendell in the east, led by Lord Elrond, fifty from Mithlond in the west, led by Galdar, driven even more by their desire to protect the brave Hobbits, than to protect the only road that connected their realms. He was glad they had come. Elrond was an old friend of his mother’s. He hoped he would be able to meet him after the battle. If they survived. 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

At its northern end, Bindbole Wood spread out over the northern border of the Shire, nearly up to the edge of Lake Evendim. To the west rose the Dim Hills, forever shrouded in a thick fog, and filled with undead and disembodied creatures that even Orcs did not care to encounter. The only way to the Shire was a narrow strip, about 150-200 feet wide, between Lake Elendim and the Dim Hills. This was the route the enemies would have to take. Any other route would take them over water, and wargs really hated water. 

The day had arrived. From beyond the curve of the lake, the first orcs appeared, riding on wargs. Behind them could be seen an unending army of orcs, shaking the ground with their tread.

In his role as Herald, young Ferumbras Took, Fortinbras’s 25-year-old son, picked up the Shire Pennant and quickly got up on a pony. There would be no diplomacy with the orcs, no parlaying. The battle would start in silence. But the rules of war had to be followed. 

He raised the Horn of the Shire, which had not been heard for centuries, and sounded the call for war. Behind him, everyone took their positions. 

Ferumbras galloped into the plain, the Shire’s pennant held high. Once he reached the middle of the plain, he raised the pennant and stabbed it into the ground, a clear signal of demarcation of boundary. 

He rode quickly back to where the army waited, and got off the pony. Fortinbras and Thorin were mounted on ponies of their own. Ponies wouldn’t go up against wargs without panicking. You needed trained warhorses for that. This was merely for show, and to boost their army’s morale. Fortinbras and Thorin, as the joint leaders, would ride into battle, but release their ponies before they panicked. 

Fortinbras raised his voice. “For the Shire!” and Thorin repeated “For the Shire!” in a deep resonant voice that echoed back from the hills. 

While the Orcs were some distance away, they released the ponies, who fled, terrified. Bilbo ran up to Thorin. They waited for Fortinbras’ signal. Thorin suddenly turned and caught Bilbo in one arm, and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s cheek. “If this is to end in fire, Bilbo…” 

“We’ll all burn together.” Bilbo completed the thought and pressed a kiss to Thorin’s cheek. 

Beside them, Fili and Kili made identical faces. They were dying to try out their battle moves against a real enemy. 

A beat, then Fortinbras raised his sword again. “For the Shire!” he yelled. Thorin raised his as well, “Death to the Orcs!” he yelled as well, and then they all started running. 

The two armies collided in the middle of the narrow plain. Thorin and the Dwarrows laid into the warg-riders as if they were reaping wheat. Bilbo fought the best way he could, by cutting open warg bellies from below, or slashing their saddle straps. Black blood sprayed all around him, disgustingly. But there was no time to think about that. 

A warg rider galloped toward them, only to be stopped by a well-aimed knife that slipped straight through the warg’s eye into its brain. Bilbo turned to see Rose giving him a thumbs up. The Orc fell, sprawling on the ground, and Bilbo ran his sword through his throat. Black blood sprayed up from the wound, and the Orc died with a little gurgle. 

Another Orc came galloping up on a warg, only to go down with two arrows in his head. The warg fell, and had its head chopped off. From behind him, he heard battle cries in Sindarin. The Elves had joined them. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some of the running ahead by the edge of the Dim Hills, sending arrows with deadly accuracy into the midst of the other army. Hundreds of Hobbits ran with them, decimating orcs with their deadly accurate knives. 

They seemed to be winning, but there seemed to be no end to the onslaught. As many as they killed, the Orcs kept coming on, and Bilbo was getting a feel for how big an army of 20000 really was. He was beginning to tire. He pulled back for a while, to catch his breath. 

Suddenly from further ahead, his sharp hearing detected a new voice among the orcs. An authoritative, hard voice shouting in a language he had never heard. He looked up. Some distance ahead, further down the streaming line of orcs, was a chariot being drawn by four wargs. He couldn’t understand what was being said, but the orc yelled the word “Durin” again and again. And it suddenly came to him. This was not just an attack on the Shire now. The Orc leader, for some reason, was after the Line of Durin. He was after Thorin. 

Fear lent Bilbo wings. He ran ahead, to where Thorin was battling another orc. Thorin beheaded the orc handily and turned around. “Thorin! That Orc… he was yelling your name!” 

Thorin looked up and turned pale. “Azog! I thought he was dead!” 

Bilbo pulled at Thorin’s arm. “He’s after you! You need to go back!” 

Thorin growled and pulled away. “I will not! He killed my grandfather before my eyes. He escaped me at Azanulbizar but he won’t escape me now!” 

And Thorin took off at a run. Bilbo ran after him, cursing the stupidity of Dwarrows. 

The chariot was close enough, but before Thorin could reach it, a huge warg smashed into his side and Thorin went over. Bilbo stopped in horror and looked up. A monstrous, pale skinned Orc stood in the chariot. He said something harshly, and Bilbo saw another Orc lift a sword over Thorin. Bilbo didn’t stop to think. He crashed into the second orc, sending him sprawling, then lifted his sword and savagely ran it through the Orc’s heart. 

He ran back to Thorin, who was futilely trying to get up, and tried to lift him. “Thorin!” 

The pale Orc got off the chariot and came towards Bilbo with a horrifying grin, lifting his sword. 

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand in his and said harshly, in a voice that didn’t sound like his own, “You will not touch him. Go back now and you will be spared.” 

The Orc laughed derisively and kept advancing. 

There would be no help from their allies. Thorin’s mad rush had taken him deep into their foes’ ranks, and the Shire’s armies were too far behind. 

Suddenly the world darkened. Bilbo heard a soft voice in his ear saying, “plough the field, sow the field”. As in a dream, Bilbo saw the pale orc lurch toward him, slowly. The world stilled, and the sounds of battle faded from his hearing. Beneath him, he felt Thorin’s body, Thorin’s hand was still warm in his own. 

The voice spoke again, a little louder this time, “plough the field, sow the field.” The voice chanted the phrase again and again like a mantra, a little louder each time “plough the field, sow the field.” Bilbo shook his head. Another voice rose now, sharply, above the first, “Bilbo Baggins! Use your power! You are of the earth – bury your enemies within the earth! That evil creature will destroy the one you love. Save him!” 

And Bilbo felt fear and rage and protectiveness running through him. He grounded his feet deeply in the earth, and let the power rush through him. He sent his strength down deep into the ground, and felt the the hard layer fifty feet below the topsoil smash, sending everything on the ground toppling into the just-created hole. He savoured the feeling of seeing the pale orc tumble slowly into the hole, his face stuck in a rictus of surprise and horror.

He almost stopped but the voice in his head continued chanting compellingly, “plough the field, sow the field.” And the other voice chimed in, “Save the Shire, Bilbo! Bury the orcs!” 

And Bilbo continued, feeling the subsoil crack beneath his power, seeing orcs, armour, weapons, wargs and all, tumble into the canyon that seemed to open up, stretching slowly into the distance. 

He heard nothing except the voices in his head. He saw nothing but the Orc army stretching ahead of him. But it was getting harder. He felt himself weakening, and there was pain, shooting through his hands and feet. He gritted his teeth and clung to Thorin’s hand. As if from a long distance, he heard Thorin’s voice, “Bilbo!” and he felt Thorin’s strength pouring into him. He could almost hear Thorin, feel his emotions, the love, the protectiveness, the fear. 

Painfully slowly, the canyon opened up, stretching till the very end of the Orc army. Bilbo rotated his head, slowly, and the earth in the canyon started turning over. With sickening crunches, the Shire’s enemies were buried under rocks and hard chunks of mud. Where there had stood an army, now was only a long stretch of what looked like very badly ploughed land. 

The voices in his head stopped. Thorin’s hand dropped from his. Excruciating pain shot through his hands and feet. Then the world went completely dark.


	16. Sudden death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bilbo’s eyes closed. Fili dropped his swords and lurched forward, just in time to catch Bilbo’s slight form as he collapsed. His hands are feet were red and bleeding. Fili lifted him gently, tears starting from his eyes. He put a finger to Bilbo’s throat and felt a weak, erratic beat. Bilbo was still alive, but barely. He needed an elf healer!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter alert. Just one more chapter to go!

Fili had been several feet behind Bilbo when he saw Bilbo run toward Thorin. Sensing danger, he yelled, “Baruk Khazad!” raised a sword and ran after them. Behind him, he sensed rather than knew that Kili and the other dwarrows would follow. 

Bilbo ran faster on those huge feet than Fili had thought possible. When he saw Thorin fall, Fili groaned and tried to speed up, but a huge warg got in his way. He slid under the animal with practised ease and rammed both swords into the warg’s belly, rolling out of the way quickly as it collapsed.

Fili looked up. Bilbo and Uncle Thorin were further away now. He would never make it! He got up and started running again, ignoring the pain from his bruises. As he ran, his own breath roaring in his ears, he saw the Orc advance toward his uncle and could only watch in horror. Uncle Thorin! Please get up! 

But then the miracle happened. Before his eyes, the gentle dandy of the Shire threw himself on the creature three times his size, and stabbed his sword down into his heart. 

Fili cheered inwardly for a brief moment then remembered the other Orc, the one in the chariot, the one that was now advancing toward Bilbo. 

Bilbo now stood between the pale Orc and Thorin like a tiny hedgehog guarding its young. 

Fili rushed up beside the Hobbit and drew both his swords. The Orc was still advancing. Fili paused to catch his breath and braced himself. He glanced at Bilbo and saw the little Hobbit’s eyes were closed and he was muttering something. 

Then the world seemed to explode. One minute the giant Orc was advancing on the little Hobbit. A moment later, the ground in front of them exploded. The earth suddenly gave way beneath the Pale Orc, who plummeted into the suddenly created canyon under his feet. The canyon shot out like a fast-moving wave for two miles, curving around the lake shore, and before Fili’s stunned eyes, tens of thousands of orcs and wargs simply disappeared into it. 

Fili looked at Bilbo and Rose’s words came back to him “It’s power beyond anything we have ever seen! And it scares me!” He saw Bilbo jerk his head sharply, his eyes wild and fay, and the earth in the canyon turned over. Where just two minutes ago there had stood an army of orcs and wargs, now there was nothing but freshly turned earth and rocks. 

Bilbo’s eyes closed. Fili dropped his swords and lurched forward, just in time to catch Bilbo’s slight form as he collapsed. His hands are feet were red and bleeding. Fili lifted him gently, tears starting from his eyes. He put a finger to Bilbo’s throat and felt a weak, erratic beat. Bilbo was still alive, but barely. He needed an elf healer! 

Suddenly a Man was in front of him, lifting Bilbo from his arms. Fili looked up. The very tall Man, dressed in a grey robe and a grey hat, moved his hand over Bilbo’s face. Bilbo’s eyelids fluttered and he briefly opened his eyes before closing them again in exhaustion. 

The tall Man looked at Fili questioningly, then, apparently satisfied, returned Bilbo’s slight form to Fili’s arms. He stepped back a few feet and slammed his staff on the ground. The staff shone a bright green, a glowing symbol came out of it and shot into the sky, where it hung. The alphabet G, in Westron. Whatever did that mean? 

He put a finger to Bilbo’s throat again. This time the heartbeat was steady and strong. Bilbo would live! 

He turned to look at Thorin, and saw an elf kneeling next to him and lifting him gently, helping him sit up. 

Thorin groaned, “Bilbo?” 

The tall grey-clad Man bent down. “He’ll live. But I have to get him to the healers. I’ll take him now, your Highness.”

“Who… who are you?” 

“They call me Gandalf. Come on, now. I’ll take care of him. You have your own job to do.” 

Gandalf? The Wizard? Fili quietly handed Bilbo back to Gandalf’s arms. 

The stately looking Elf was helping Thorin out of his armour. Fili saw blood streaming sluggishly down his Uncle’s side. But it looked like a mere flesh wound, and he knew the Elves were better at healing than even Oin could be. 

What had Gandalf said – that Fili had his own job to do? Fili looked around, still shaken by what he had seen. 

“Look alive, Fili! There are still orcs left!” Balin’s voice came from behind him. 

Fili looked around and saw he was right – there were still skirmishes going on, and some of the orcs were on the run. 

“Gather the army, Fili! The escaped orcs could wreak havoc in the Shire! Thorin and Fortinbras are out of it, and we need a leader now!” 

Kili was right beside him, nodding. Dwalin nodded as well in support. 

Fili turned toward the allied forces and raised his voice the way Balin had taught him – projecting it across the field, “Shire! To me!” 

The scattered allied forces, still bewildered by the turn the battle had taken, were galvanized into action and they followed him. 

The leaderless, panicking orcs were caught and killed, with not a single casualty on the allied side. Orcs weren’t easy to frighten but the ground opening up and swallowing a nearly 20,000-strong army would do it. 

Fili finished off the last orc standing with one vicious stab, then stopped to catch his breath. He looked around. The field was empty but for dead bodies. He heard a sound and saw Nori running up, armed with a bloody sword and shield. “My ravens say there are orcs hiding behind the North Moors.” 

Fili turned to the small group of Dwarrows, Rangers, Hobbits and Elves around him. “You heard him. Let’s go!” 

They ran over the gruesome path under which their enemies were buried, boots slipping and sliding on the upturned earth, and entered the North Moors. The pitiful little bands of fleeing Orcs didn’t stand a chance. Fili and his troop cut them down mercilessly. 

“It’s all done.” Nori came towards Fili, wrapping a cloth around his bleeding arm. “Let’s get back” 

The walk back was sombre. Elves, Dwarrows and Hobbits roamed through the field, looking for survivors. Some were crying. Others were salvaging armour and weapons. Still others were gathering together the dead bodies of the orcs and wargs to burn them. The aftermath of a war is never pretty, and Fili was glad to leave the field, his arm through his brother’s, comforted by his familiar presence. 

Bindbole Wood was more cheerful, and the waiting Dwarrows gave Fili’s little company three cheers as they went through. 

The others waved back, but Fili and Kili walked through silently.


	17. Last Chapter!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bilbo laughed. “I’m sorry.” He looked at Thorin, who was looking particularly smart. A light blue shirt, a smart dark blue jacket with silver trim, and a coat with bold geometrical designs in silver. He looked every inch the Prince of Erebor. If there were more silver streaks in his hair, that was just a detail. Bilbo let out a small sigh. “You’re so beautiful.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. :) 
> 
> I have a sequel in mind for their next Adventure - Erebor. Let me know in the comments if you'd like to read that. Thanks!

Bilbo woke up and groaned. His whole body was a mass of bruises, from top to toe. His hands and feet, especially, felt like they were burning. He looked down and found his feet were wrapped in bandages. As were his hands. Oh so he hadn’t dreamt it after all. Now if he could only remember what “it” was. 

Where was he? Oh. Back in his room at Bag End. This was becoming a habit. But at least the Shire must be safe, for now. Was the war still going on? Where was everybody? He tried to sit up but his battered body wouldn’t cooperate. He gave up and tried to call for Rose, but his voice came out as a hoarse whisper and he started coughing. 

The door opened and a tall Man with a grey beard and grey robes entered. Bilbo blinked at him. What was Gandalf doing here? 

“Bilbo Baggins! You’re up, finally. You gave us all a shock.” Gandalf sat down next to Bilbo, and looked down with kindly eyes. He poured out a glass of water and handed it to Bilbo. 

Bilbo held the cup carefully in his bandaged hands, and sipped it carefully. 

He whispered hoarsely, “Did we win the battle?” 

Gandalf looked concerned. “Don’t you remember?” 

Bilbo thought back. Suddenly he remembered Thorin lying on the ground with the Pale Orc coming closer. The terror he felt then came rushing back. 

“The Pale Orc. Thorin! Is he all right?” 

“Thorin’s very well. His wound’s completely healed, and he’s at a council meeting with the allies.” 

“And the others? Rose? Did we… lose anyone?” 

“Not anyone in your family, or Thorin’s. We had surprisingly few casualties, considering what we feared. Twenty-two dead – 15 Hobbits, 4 Dwarrows, and two Rangers. All died on the battlefield. All those who were critically injured, but alive, were saved by Rivendell’s Elves. The war is over.” 

“But how? There were tens of thousands of orcs, Gandalf! They just kept on coming!” 

“You really don’t remember, do you? It was you, Bilbo Baggins. You opened up the earth, several feet deep, two miles long. The entire orc army is now buried beside the lake.” Gandalf looked down gravely. 

Bilbo swallowed convulsively and drank some more water. “What? That couldn’t have happened!” 

And yet Bilbo knew it was true. He now remembered it all – the power flowing through him, the ground opening up in the most stupendous spring singing ever. Although what he had sowed was not seed. His heart suddenly sank. Had he dishonoured Yavanna? 

He looked up at Gandalf pleadingly, “There were voices in my ear – a male and a female, pushing me, encouraging me. And Thorin’s hand in mine. I felt his strength, anchoring me. I still don’t know how I did it. I don’t know if what I did was good or evil.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Bilbo. I know the Valar lent you their power. As they sent me to you when you fell, to save your life.” 

“Oh.” Bilbo had nothing more to say. His mother had once told him that Gandalf was a Maia, a being of power and an assistant to the Valar. If he said so, it must be true. But he was finding it hard to wrap his head around the concept.

“I did something more, you know. I placed my sigil above the battlefield, taking credit for your feat. If the Enemy finds out the extent of your power, your life wouldn’t be worth a moment’s purchase.” 

Bilbo nodded. He completely understood that. This was a level of magic he could not control. Spring singing was about his limit. 

“You didn’t get away unscathed, you know. With that amount of power, you’ve burnt the skin off your hands and feet.”

Bilbo looked at his bandaged hands and feet. He felt a deep sense of foreboding, “Will they scar?” 

But Gandalf ignored the question. “But let’s not speak about that. You are alive, and your hands and feet will heal. There’s an army of people waiting to see you outside. Perhaps today you could just see your close friends and family? Should I send them in, in small groups? We don’t want to tire you out.” 

“Yes, please.” 

Gandalf went out. Pretty soon, the door opened. Rose, Fili and Kili came in, followed by Aunt Linda, carrying a tea tray. With rare restraint, Rose didn’t jump on Bilbo. She just sat next to him, kissed his cheek and held on to his arm, as if she needed to feel him, to know he was still alive and well. 

Bilbo looked at all of them carefully. They seemed all right. Fili had a new scar, a long scratch on his upper arm. Quite dashing, he thought.

Aunt Linda put down the tray, and gave him a close hug, careful not to touch his bandaged hands. She sat down next to him, made a cup of tea and handed it to Bilbo. “William, if this keeps going on, I’ll have to move to Bag End permanently, with my Bodo. You really need to be more careful.” 

Bilbo smiled. “Aunt Linda, I didn’t mean to. But Gandalf tells me I saved the Shire, so perhaps it was worth it.” 

Aunt Linda sniffed to hide the fact that she had tears in her eyes. 

Bilbo turned to the boys. “What’s been happening, you two? What day is it?”

“You’ve been out of it for a week! Uncle Thorin’s losing his mind. You lying here so still, while he has to hold meetings with Elves!” Kili burst out. 

“Elves? Why?” 

Fili answered in more measured tones, “Well, according to Nori’s spies, the orcs had almost emptied the Misty Mountains, from Moria to Carn Dum, and the fortress of Dol Guldur, to create this army. Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket! Those regions are now almost empty, ripe for the picking. I think it’s mostly Gandalf, egging them on. They want to take back Erebor.” 

Bilbo groaned. “Please don’t tell me Thorin’s going along with it.” 

“Well, it’s Erebor, so obviously he’s interested. But I’m not sure how long a Dwarf-Elf alliance can hold up without Hobbits around to smooth the rough edges! The Rangers are trying their best, but Uncle Thorin absolutely hates Elves, and other than Lord Elrond, the other Elves have been acting all snooty. We sit in at the meetings occasionally, I mean Rose and I. Kili isn’t allowed in.” 

Bilbo grinned. Fili was growing to be a very perceptive youth. He would grow into a diplomat yet. 

Aunt Linda said quietly, “We have to go. There are others waiting to see you, and you need your rest. Rose will stay to take care of you. Lord Elrond will be here with the healers in a couple of hours to check up on you.” 

Rose nodded, and started by removing the empty teacup from Bilbo’s bandaged hands. The others left. 

“Help me get up, Rose. I can’t meet visitors lying flat on my back.” 

Rose helped Bilbo sit up, and propped him up with pillows. She quietly adjusted the quilt over Bilbo’s lap. 

“Why so quiet, Rose?” 

Rose looked at Bilbo and her lower lip trembled. “It was just so awful, Uncle Bill. And the days you lay so silent here… I was so afraid. Gandalf and Lord Elrond said it was fine and you’d wake up, but you lay there so still. It was scary.” 

“I’m sorry, Rose. You should never have had to see any of this.” Bilbo shook his head.

“It’s not your fault, Uncle Bill. And you killed all the orcs anyway.” She ended that sentence with a little breath of exultation. “You can’t believe how important I’ve become. I’ve got 25 dinner invitations waiting for me on the mantelpiece!” 

“What? Who’s inviting my underage niece for dinner without asking me?” Bilbo glared, but there was no real anger in it. 

“Well, you were unconscious, so they sent the invitations to Aunt Linda and me.” Rose giggled, very well aware that her uncle’s bark was worse than his bite. 

“If you think you’re going anywhere without my approval, young lady…” 

“Oh no, Uncle Bill! I replied to all of them very politely that we’d have to wait until you woke up and approved.” 

“Hmph.” But Bilbo looked at Rose and couldn’t help smiling. They were both alive and would be so for years to come, he hoped. “Is there anyone you prefer, Rose? You will tell me if there is, won’t you?”

Rose sighed. “There is someone, but he doesn’t look at me that way. It’s all right. I don’t really mind. I don’t have time for romance now. I have to look after you!” 

Bilbo grinned, then grew serious. “Is he older than you, Rose?” 

“Yes. No. Maybe.”

Bilbo mentally groaned. If she wasn’t sure of his relative age, he had to be a Dwarf! Or, heaven forbid, a Ranger or an Elf! Why was Rose so attracted to the exotic? 

But to Rose he said calmly, “Well, we all have crushes as we grow up, Rosy. If he’s older and more experienced, wait till you’re sure he won’t take advantage. If he’s young and immature, wait till both of you grow up!”

Rose grinned, but nodded. She had learned her lesson the hard way. In any case, this was no time for romance. This was a time for high deeds and valour, and Rose had tasted blood. She hadn’t won the knife-throwing contest for nothing! In the battle, she had run beside the Elves, braving the borders of the Dim Hills, and brought down 17 Orcs with accurately placed knives through their eyes and necks. Unlike her Uncle, who was the peaceable type, Rose had never shied away from conflict. 

There was a knock on the door and it opened. Fortinbras limped in, leaning on a cane. He had a bandage on his upper arm. 

Rose got up and placed a chair for him, helping him into the chair. Fortinbras looked a little grey, but quite cheerful. 

“Well, Bilbo the Orc-slayer. How are you?” 

“The what?” 

“Orc-slayer. That’s just one of them. They’re making up poems about you across the Shire. There’s also Preserver of the Shire, which sounds like jam, actually. Destroyer of Evil, Yavanna’s Avatar, Saviour of the Shire, Iluvatar’s Warrior, and I forget the rest.” 

Rose piped up, “Oh yes, and the Dwarrows have their songs too. They’re calling him Golden Haired Prince, Durin’s Protector, Hero of Middle-Earth, Star of Eriador. My personal favourite is Thorin’s Shield! And I heard the Rangers are calling you “Little Berserker”.” Rose dissolved into giggles. 

Fortinbras chuckled. “Can’t blame them, you know. You didn’t just lead the army – you were the army! At this point, if you wanted the Thainship, not a single Hobbit would object, including me.” 

Bilbo shook his head, smiling. “Oh no, you don’t. You got it, you’re stuck with it. Why are you limping?” 

“A Warg chomped my leg. Luckily the Elves make great poultices. My leg’s a bit weak, but they tell me it’ll be fine in a month or so.”

“Hmm…and what news in the Shire?”

“Mix of joy and sorrow, really. On the one hand, we won the battle, thanks to you and Thorin. And we have strong allies now – Dwarrows, Men and Elves. So in the event of another attack, I’m pretty sure we’ll again have help. On the other hand, there are 22 people dead. We had a joint funeral in the old mausoleum, which the Dwarrows renovated in two days flat, with a huge mosaic depicting the battle on the wall. But don’t go looking at the mosaic - you have a starring role, complete with golden curls! Thorin saw it the day of the funeral – I swear I saw him shudder every time he looked at it”

Rose said loftily, “You have no aesthetic sense, the lot of you. I thought it was very beautiful.” 

Bilbo giggled, but Fortinbras grew more sombre, “All the martyrs are buried there – Hobbits, Dwarrows and Rangers. So that’s a lot of homes in mourning.” 

Suddenly the door was thrown open and Thorin impulsively burst in. “Bilbo!” 

Fortinbras immediately got up. “Think of the devil… Well, I have things to do. Rose – would you help me to the door, please?” 

Bilbo didn’t even look at them. He had eyes only for Thorin. 

The door closed softly. 

Thorin sat down next to him and said “You’re awake! It’s been the longest week of my life!” 

Bilbo laughed. “I’m sorry.” He looked at Thorin, who was looking particularly smart. A light blue shirt, a smart dark blue jacket with silver trim, and a coat with bold geometrical designs in silver. He looked every inch the Prince of Erebor. If there were more silver streaks in his hair, that was just a detail. 

Bilbo let out a small sigh. “You’re so beautiful.” 

Thorin let out a startled laugh. “Bilbo Baggins!” 

“No, you are. It’s a funny thing to say about a male Dwarf, I guess. I could call you handsome, but you’re so much more. You take my breath away every time I see you. And I, I’m probably scarred for life. When these bandages come off, you won’t want to look at me.” He looked down at his hands and feet.

Thorin looked concerned. “Bilbo, you do know that no amount of scarring will change my feelings for you? Are you sure you’re all right?” 

Bilbo sighed with relief. “Now I am. But when I saw you lying there, still and helpless, and the Orc coming closer,” he shuddered. “I have never been so scared.” 

Thorin placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and stroked it comfortingly.

Bilbo continued, “Let’s just say it put things in perspective. I really have been a fool. Hobbit courtships, you know, are designed around music and dancing and flowers and food. You and I, we had none of that. We had friendship and saving each other and working together for a common goal.”

Thorin looked aggrieved. “I did get you flowers.” 

Bilbo smiled tenderly. “Yes, you did, you silly Dwarf. And don’t change the subject. I’m trying to tell you that I love you.” 

Thorin stilled. “Bilbo,” he breathed once, before surging forward and pressing a soft kiss on Bilbo’s lips.

It was the softest kiss, just a touch of beard, just a whiff of Thorin’s unique scent – a mix of forge and molten metal. But Bilbo melted, sighing deeply. 

He reached out for Thorin with his bandaged arms. Thorin carefully pulled him into a firm embrace and kissed him again, this time hard and passionate, decades of frustration and longing pouring out into a single kiss. 

“My One,” Thorin breathed. “I never thought I’d even meet you, yet here you are in my arms. Mahal is good to me.” 

Bilbo sat back, breathing hard, a little overwhelmed. “And I never thought I’d love anyone. But here you are.” 

Thorin gently took Bilbo’s face in his hands and kissed him again, softly. 

When Rose came back to the room an hour later, she found Bilbo fast asleep with his head resting on Thorin’s lap, while Thorin softly stroked Bilbo’s curls, an ethereal smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> "Dandy" Bilbo is practically canon. Tolkien himself says: "No going upstairs for the hobbit: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes)". No wonder Peter Jackson cast Martin for the role!
> 
> "Celeb Brill" is, I'm ashamed to say, entirely made up. None of the maps had a mountain exactly where I wanted it, so I plonked it down myself in a vaguely believable spot.
> 
> Of course, it's all AU, but I did do some basic research on place names, history, etc, mostly from these sources:
> 
> Maps used: http://hugo1900.pagesperso-orange.fr/MAP-OF-MIDDLE-EARTH-VERSION-7.jpg and http://www.shirepost.com/ShireMapLarge.html
> 
> Genealogy and ages of characters: http://tolkiengateway.net/. The story is assumed to occur around Third Age 2941, also known as S.R. 1341 in Shire-reckoning, when Bilbo was 51 years old.
> 
> Travel Times: http://www.theoriginalseries.com/traveltimes.htm


End file.
